This Plague Between Us
by Broccoli-xxxx
Summary: During and post-CoE. The Torchwood team are recovering, even if it seems they're getting worse. Starts during Day Four. Features OCs but Janto-centric. Arc 1: chapters 1-15. Arc 2: chapters 16-30. Arc 3: chapters 31-45. Do R&R.
1. Story Arc I: Not Now

_A/N: Welcome to my fix-it for CoE. If you enjoyed CoE, including the death of Ianto, then this fic is likely not for you. (: I'm not sure if the updates will be regular with this, but I'll do my best to make sure there are some updates. The title is a portion of a Blink-182 song I like, named Stockholm Syndrome. I'd recommend you listen to it as it and the rest of the songs from the album it is on inspired this fic. Enough from me, anyways. Enjoy, and do review.

* * *

_

He was dying, he was fairly certain of that fact.

It didn't feel like he thought it would. He'd always imagined it being like fading away, not being able to feel his toes, then his ankles, then his legs, and so on in a similar vein until his mind and his brain and his memories were gone.

He was right about one thing. His head was the last to go. He could have sworn his whole body was dead for an age before his mind deserted the world.

_25 years_. Such a long time to him, but so short in the grand scheme of things. And he could see the man looking down at him crying, and he could remember that this man was hundreds, _thousands_ of years old, but so young on the outside, nothing betraying his lifespan except the careful, sage look in those blue eyes.

"It's all my fault."

"No it's not…"

"Don't speak. Save your breath."

Truth be told, it was like a sponge being wrung out of water. He could feel the life seeping out of him, could feel it almost pooling on the floor around him, and could feel it humming as it left his body. He knew even if he tried, he couldn't lift his arms to circle them around the older man. They lay like weights at his sides. But breath, that was one thing he wasn't worried about. That he had plenty of.

He exhaled, tears escaping his eyes. _What a waste_. Limited time left and all he could think of to say was –

"I love you…"

"Don't."

That word halted all thought as yet more life was wrung out of him by the virus surging through his slowing blood. His eyes glazed, and eyelids fluttered shut. He opened them again upon being shaken urgently, his lover's voice reaching a pitch of panic. A pitch which reassured him – _this is as hard for you as it is for me_.

"Ianto? Ianto? Ianto, stay with me, Ianto, stay with me please! Stay with me, stay with me!" No. No. Don't. Stop crying, Jack. Jack. That's his name. _Remember his name_.

"Hey…it was good, yeah?"

A laugh, almost like a sob. "Yeah."

He panicked as he realized he couldn't feel his body, "You'll forget me."

Jack shook his head, "Never could."

Ianto watched as Jack's anxious hands stroked his arms, his chest, smoothing out imaginary creases, but dimly registered that his time was running out.

He had to make sure someone knew who he was, really. This was his last chance for someone to remember his name, his existence.

"In a thousand years time, you won't remember me."

_Please_. This was desperation. _Promise me, Jack. Do me this one favour even if you can't say those three words._

"Yes I will. I promise, I will."

The last of his strength deserted him, and he closed his eyes, slumping uselessly onto Jack. His heart beat sluggishly, the last bit of him alive, and his mind raced through all his memories at once – _his dad's frown, breaking his leg, school, petty thefts from the corner shop, Torchwood One, fresh out of university, Lisa, falling in love, Cybermen, his life destroyed, fighting to be at Torchwood Three despite the new nightmares he knew it would bring, losing Lisa, loving Jack, losing Owen, losing Tosh…now losing himself._

"Ianto? Ianto? Don't go, don't leave me, please! Please, don't!"

Those words broke his heart. He last felt Jack's body slump against him, as their inner lights left them.


	2. Asthenia

_A/N: This is the next chapter, and this time it's Jack-centric. I would like to dedicate this to my four reviewers: CosmicalMadison, Your Angel Of Music (both of whom noted I'd listed Ianto's age wrongly in the last chapter, and so I have corrected it), thunderincrimson and ForeverBossy26. Here is your update, hope it's up to your standards. It's a little shorter than the last. Enjoy._

* * *

It was always the same when he was dragged back. One moment, the darkness, knowing nothing, the next moment, gasping for air, a total shock to the system and always frightening no matter how used to it he was.

It was the same until this time.

This was a gradual fade. The darkness shifted through grays slowly, lightening like laundry out in the sun, until it was white and he opened his eyes and drew in a breath. A small, quiet breath, nothing like the heaving and sucking in of air that usually followed his resurrection, and he stared up at the ceiling of this chasm of a room, wishing that his constant cycle of life-death-life-death was a miracle instead of a curse.

_Oh, God_. There was a red sleeping bag over him, and a woman – Gwen, he identified – at his side, staring at number 14, Ianto Jones. He pushed the bag away viciously, disgusted, and watched the shake in her shoulders and the quiet sounds of loss resonating through her chest.

_I'm so sorry. So, so sorry._

He put an arm around her, resting his head on her shoulder as she cried, and stared at that cold, still face, suit still immaculate, tie a fraction askew from where Gwen had 'straightened' it. Trust a man like Ianto to be sharply dressed to the nines, even in death.

His eyes were dry. There were no tears left for him to shed. He'd known when he kissed him, trying to give everything he had to Ianto in that one kiss, that this time was permanent. This time, the life would not flow from him into the man he loved. _It would not come._

He longed to reach out and touch that white skin and feel it flush with warmth, feel Ianto smile under his fingertips, rather than feel papery ice, and know he was gone.

_My living, laughing love._

Gwen sobbed incessantly and all Jack could think was how he didn't want to look at her anymore because this was his fault. He could've_, should've_ known better, but he'd dragged Ianto in with him and he let Ianto die. He swaggered in like the big hero he is – Captain Jack Harkness, all white teeth and billowing coat and _Wham, bam, thank you ma'am_ – and let him fall. Torchwood staff die young. My fallen idol.

_I won't forget you._

After what felt like an eternity, they got up. Gwen moved like a woman twice her age, slow, clumsy and sore. He shepherded her towards the door, but looked back. Ianto lying there, alone, frozen, shut down, next to an empty, crumpled sleeping bag and the numbers 13 and 14. His job was done, but theirs was still not complete.

_And yet I'm leaving you all over again._


	3. Easy Target

_A/N: Quick updates today. I'm putting off writing my essay on the production and use of industrial enzymes by writing this. Into the action now, with an OC - Agent John Samson, reporting for duty. He may or may not be important, I can't decide. Don't expect updates to be so quick from now on, I'll have school to get on with and I'm ill right now so I'll be fighting illness to stay in school and not miss work. I'm only having days off if it's swine flu. Or if I get swine flu. Anyways, mini-rant over. Longer chapter now, so enjoy._

* * *

Agent John Samson of UNIT was having a bad day.

Obviously, the threat of an alien stealing the Earth's children wasn't great, and the fact that everyone came out of the alien's conference room looked extremely worse for wear dwelled heavily on his mind, but now that that was sorted, it was the bodies in the room he was guarding that was bothering him.

Or rather, the absence of _one _body. Well, two, but one was standing in front of him, berating him. They'd never taught them how to deal with Lazarus types at the training academy. From what Agent Samson could gather, this man had been a victim of the virus released into the locked-down Thames House, had come back to life and walked out, and saved the Earth by destroying the alien with a high-frequency signal, through what means he did not know.

The drying tears on the man's face were distracting. It must have been at great personal cost. Agent Samson relaxed his white-knuckle hold on his gun, but didn't completely let go – something in the brunette man's eyes made him uneasy, and set his teeth on edge.

"I'll ask you again. Why is Mr. Ianto Jones' body missing from that room? I'm Torchwood, you know, and he belongs to m---"

"Us," the woman with him interrupted, looking at him sharply with doe-like eyes but not putting her heart into the glare. Agent Samson shifted from foot to foot anxiously. The removal of number 14 was classified. He was told by his superiors not to tell anything, and to let the woman who had come through with her squad 'do her job'. It would be high treason to disclose the details.

"I've told you, Captain, sir. That information is classified, _even to Torchwood_. I can't tell you why number 14 was removed from this facility."

Captain Jack Harkness of Torchwood swore fluently and loudly. The woman, whom Agent Samson had already identified as one Gwen Cooper-Williams, stroked his arm reassuringly.

"Jack. The poor lad's only young. Stop being a bloody brute."

Jack looked at her with anguish in his eyes, "Gwen, this is Ianto. Someone has taken him."

Gwen nodded, sliding an arm around him, "I know, pet. But Agent Samson here is only doing his job. You can't blame him for something UNIT refuses to disclose details about." She eyed Agent Samson in a way that made him bristle indignantly. _Patronizing woman_. These Torchwood types were all the same.

"Sweetheart, would you mind us asking if UNIT is behind this?"

"Yes. I would. I'm extremely sorry for your loss, Miss, but I am not at liberty to tell you where number 14 has been taken. I'm not sure how many times you want me to reiterate this point until you realize I mean it, but honestly, it's getting a little old."

Captain Harkness punched a wall with a curse, "For God's sake, John Samson, will you just step up and give us some semblance of closure here? Number 14 – as you so eloquently named him –" he paused, furious, "Was one of us. Torchwood. As his boss and his lover, _I need to know where he has been taken!_"

Agent Samson paused, reflecting on this. The American had a point, but that did not stop it from being treason. Of the highest bloody order. UNIT'd have his neck. But something about the lost look behind the anger in Harkness' blue eyes made him pause, and gave him food for thought.

With a sigh, Agent Samson promptly turned his back on Queen and country, and let go of his hold on his gun, swinging it to hang from his back. With one finger, he shushed them, and then turned off his comm. Gwen Cooper-Williams smiled broadly at him, looking excitedly at Captain Jack Harkness, who wiped his eyes of tears before noticing that Agent Samson had switched over to just being John Samson.

"This will have to be quick. You realize what I'm doing here."

"Committing treason, of course. You're our kind of guy, Agent Samson." The American grinned, the anger in his eyes replaced with hope.

"Please, I'm not Agent Samson right now. Call me John."

"John," Gwen smiled, "Thank you. Can you tell us at least who took him?"

"Number 14 – Mr. Ianto Jones, of Torchwood – was taken out by a woman just two hours ago. Well, obviously, not just a woman, she couldn't carry a body that tall, but a woman and her team."

Harkness' forehead creased in worry, "Can you tell us anything of note about this woman?"

"Had the brightest red hair I've ever seen. And these strange black markings on her skin…like tattoos. Tribal, almost. Said her name was Agent Catharine, and that was all I needed to know."

Gwen frowned, looking at John in a way that made him wonder how she'd ended up having that old look set in her eyes, "Thanks, John."

John swung his gun back around, turned his comm back on, and saluted, "I'm glad to have been of service, ma'am. I'm glad you understand that that information is classified."

Jack smirked, saluting back, "Nice to meet a man who sticks to his guns."

And with that, the Torchwood pair departed, no doubt off to search for answers, leaving Agent Samson to wonder at what he had just done.


	4. Violence

_A/N: Extremely short note for a long chapter. This is still for my original 4 reviewers. You guys rock. Here are two more OCs: Learner and the elusive Agent Catharine. Hope you enjoy.  


* * *

Blip. Blip. Blip._

Out of the darkness of the room, Catharine eyed the massive, hulking supercomputer suspiciously. Or rather, what she presumed to be a supercomputer. Learner hadn't been too helpful with the details.

"You'd better know what you're doing, Learner."

"Oh, believe me Cath, I do. You and I know that this has a fairly high success rate."

"If you call 50-50 high. It needs to work this time, and properly. No halfway point. We've had more than enough working brains, but I could do without the whole vegetative state part."

"Puh-lease. This is gonna be _piss-easy_. He's the ideal candidate."

Catharine sighed, drumming her fingers on her leg anxiously, "Then what's the hold up? How long is it till go-time?"

Learner looked at a clock on the wall, "About 10 minutes. Keep your hat on."

Catharine was not a patient woman. She idly flicked some dust off her trousers, staring at Learner. He was a genius; that much was certain. She knew she ought to pay more attention to him, but her emotions were getting the better of her – they needed this. They'd been through so much to get him, waited so long. For an organization that had a reputation for killing its employees early, Ianto Jones took a long time to pass away.

Needless to say, the Officials jumped in as soon as he did. They were known for their efficiency; this was one thing Cath was relying on to entice young Ianto Jones to join their ranks.

Her heart thrummed pleasantly in her fingertips, and she grinned, revealing straight, dangerous-looking teeth. Learner tapped her shoulder, and she looked up.

"It's time."

The room they migrated to was bright, almost too bright compared to the room that Learner liked to work in. Cath favoured this spacious, beautiful white room. It smelt…clean. And calm. Ideal, really, for what they were about to attempt. They had pushed her mahogany furniture to the sides of the room to make space for the sterile metal bed they placed Ianto Jones on, still immaculately dressed and still, Cath thought, as beautiful as he had been in life, if not more so. The grey-blue tinge suited his skin, she thought, as she removed his cufflinks and rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt to his elbows.

She eyed the junction of veins in the crease of his elbow, and licked her lips.

Learner sighed, "Now now, Cath, don't get too excited. There's no action in those veins right now."

"I know, I know. Can we just get this show on the road?"

Learner nodded, "Get the cables then."

She headed back to the dark room, and hoisted a thick coil of heavy cables onto her shoulder. One end of all of them was attached to the machinery; the other had a strange three-pronged plug on the end. Cath smiled as she felt the razor-sharp prongs dig into her ever so gently. Bringing back Ianto Jones was going to be fun in the very worst way.

Letting them uncoil as she headed back to the white room, she leaned against the doorway for a second, watching Learner prep Ianto's body; sterilizing his forearms, unbuttoning his waistcoat and shirt, removing the tie, and sterilizing his face and torso.

She hummed appreciatively, "Learner, you are an _artiste_."

Learner smiled grimly, "If you're gonna do a job, may as well do it well. He's doing to be magnificent." He turned to face Cath, face solemn, "Promise you won't ditch me for him when we bring him back. You know his heart will never belong to you like mine does."

"You're so sweet. Of course I won't leave you…You're too special," she purred, nipping at Learner's earlobe, "You're the best of a fabulous lot."

She watched as Learner's plain, non-note-worthy human body rippled and shimmered, and in an instant he was _magnificent_. Huge pitch-black spines sprouted from his back, the back of his arms, and backs of his calves, his eyes turned entirely white, his skin turned an iridescent indigo and he hissed lightly, exposing a forked tongue. He grinned wickedly, showing three rows of identical pointed teeth. She loved when he lost control.

"Time to get to work then."

He pulled a long, metallic spike from the holster strapped around his thigh, over his ripped black board shorts; the only piece of clothing that could survive his transformation. He lightly pressed on the end, smiling as a small hole was made in his fingertip, dark green blood welling on the surface.

And with that, he drove the stake three times into Ianto's torso.

Satisfied when the blood began to well up and spill out of the punctures, Learner handed the spike to Cath, "You do the forearms, you're more careful at these things than me. I'll start plugging him in."

Cath grinned, carefully – but precisely – spiking him in the forearms, wincing ever so slightly as she felt the stake penetrate his skin and muscles, "If this doesn't work, Torchwood are gonna be pissed at the state we've left him in."

"Naturally. Which is why this is gonna work. Now, _shh_…" Learner tugged the thick, coiled wire cables towards Ianto, and identified which plugs he needed, and fitted the biggest one into the holes in Ianto's torso, and the two smaller ones into the wounds in his forearms. He looked at Cath, "Stay here. Keep your comms open."

She nodded, and he left the room.

* * *

Learner moved sinuously into the dark room again, slipping back into his human form to sit down at the heavy machinery. Rolling his desk chair towards the screen, he watched as lines and lines of coding flowed down it, the bright green of the text starkly contrasting in the pitch-blackness of the room. The lack of light was to keep the machine cool; if it overheated, it could kill everyone within a 5km radius of their locale. Learner shuddered at the thought.

The code stopped. _Time to press go._

"We're ready in here," he whispered, knowing the comm would carry his voice to her.

Cath flicked a few switches on the plug, and replied, her voice slightly muffled by the comm, "Get the party started, Learner."

He took the mouse in his hand and clicked the green icon, and ran back to join her.

* * *

Blackness. That was all there was…He'd half expected to see people he'd lost, but he was wrong. He knew nothing except the crushing darkness. You can perhaps imagine his surprise when the darkness started to lighten, and he began to feel slightly conscious.

It wasn't much at first. Just the ability to think, his brain slowly – but surely – awakening. He registered that he was likely in a vegetative state, and dimly wondered what had happened to put him there. Little by little, memories came back; his name was Ianto Jones, he was 25, Welsh, lived in Cardiff _(usually)_, migrated to London with his team to stop…

Wait a second. He'd died. He could have sworn to a jury he'd died in that bloody Thames House place. _Oh, fuck_. If this was him travelling to Heaven, or Hell, or some such other place – he'd always rather liked the sound of the Elysian Fields – then he had better bloody hurry up.

Lighter. Slowly getting lighter. There had been someone there until his last breath. Brown hair, blue eyes, smiles and tears, sadness and pain. Beautiful to the very last. What was his name? He'd promised himself to remember it, no matter what…J. It began with a J.

_Jack._ That was his name. As he put a name to the face, the face grew clearer, and Ianto pulled out memories of this Jack, to see what he meant to him.

Oh. _Wow._ The first memory just had to be that. Though, he had to hand it to himself, that was a bloody innovative way of using a stopwatch. If he could have, he would have blushed. As his body remembered being with Jack, Ianto noticed that he had a body. In that case, this could not be him passing on. It felt like it had been too long for him to be passing on, anyways.

That gave him two options. Either he was a) not dead, just in a coma, or b) being brought back to life.

Ianto swore inwardly. If they were using that bloody _Risen Mitten_ on him, he'd fucking kill them himself.

He remembered Torchwood. All of it. Betraying them for Lisa, the cannibals, Suzie, Owen, Tosh, Gwen, Rhys, Adam, Tommy, the Weevils, Myfanwy… Everything. He recalled that only Gwen and Jack were left now. Wincing, he felt he wanted to sigh, and was surprised when he found he could.

He could also hear voices.

"He's coming back! He's breathing! Learner, statistics?"

"Brain activity at 90%! By all accounts, he should be hearing us by now!"

"Ianto Jones? Flex your fingers if you can hear us, sweetheart!"

Ianto dutifully flexed his fingers, and screamed out in agony as he began to feel his body. He could feel three cold points in his chest, and in each of his forearms, and something warm and wet that smelt and felt like blood, and a cold,_ cold_ metal table which he was lying on, his back arching and his fingers scrabbling for a grip.

"Brain activity at 100%! Just a little longer now!"

"Ianto, does it hurt?"

"_YES! OF COURSE IT FUCKING DOES! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?_"

"Now now, no need to swear."

Cold fingers grasped his, making him realize just how hot he was. They stroked his hand carefully, soothingly, "Just a little longer, cariad, you'll be better soon."

He wanted to scratch his skin off. It felt like he was burning. Hot, far too hot. Tiny, microscopic itches everywhere, crawling and dancing underneath his baking skin.

Ianto wailed and writhed on the operating table for what felt like forever. And just when he thought the agony would never stop

it

_did._

The silence rang out in the white room.

Ianto Jones sat up.


	5. Down

_A/N: Agh, I'm ill. Still not ill enough to warrant time off school, IMHO, but ill enough for it to be aggravating. This chapter follows our lovely Jack, and stars no OCs whatsoever. However, supporting actresses are PhoneCall!Gwen and PhoneCall!Martha, so I hope you enjoy their little parts. I'm aiming for about 15 chapters, which would mean a chapter for every song off of the Blink-182 album that inspired this fic. The self-titled one. You'll notice I've started to rename the chapters according to what song goes best with it. Anyways, enough from me: this is dedicated to EVERYONE who reviews this, ever. I love the reactions I'm getting. ENJOY. My head is killing me._  


* * *

He found himself back on a roof of a skyscraper. Admittedly, this time it was in London, and he was not looking over the spectacular view of the Plass, but he always found serenity when he was high above the normal, work-a-day people below.

Captain Jack Harkness was deeply unsettled – particularly as his rooftop hideaway was not providing the usually dosage of calm to his system. He felt as though someone had dumped him in cold water, so the heavy wool of his greatcoat absorbed gallons of the stuff and kept him shivering long after he'd climbed out of it. He had not slept in days; how could he, with images of Ianto and Stephen racing round his brain? Stephen, his beautiful grandson, with blood pouring from his eyes and nose and ears, shaking and writhing as he headed towards death.

He never got to tell Stephen that he wasn't his uncle, after all. _Though, perhaps_, Jack mused,_ he knows now_. Wherever the dead go when they're at peace. He prayed for Stephen's sake it was not just the darkness he was so used to.

And now Ianto was missing. Well, his remains. The man he loved had departed this world – Jack checked his watch – 87 hours and 29 minutes ago. But something urgent tugged at his gut, telling him that something was wrong here. And not just because Ianto had been body-snatched by a strange woman (_Agent Catharine_, he reminded himself) about whom he could find no information.

When Ianto died, he felt something inside him die out, like an extinguished flame. But for some reason, now it didn't feel so cold, as if the ashes were reigniting. That made Jack both nervous and hopeful.

Gwen had returned to Cardiff to survey the damage to the Hub and see what could be done, whether it could be recovered or rebuilt. Jack had no doubt she wouldn't be calling for a while – Rhys was likely to keep her busy with baby preparation and carting stuff back from the shell of the Hub to keep in storage. Jack had an emergency bunker just a few miles out of Cardiff set up for situations of dire need – only he had hoped they'd never need it.

He felt like he was at the bottom of that deep, dark grave Grey had put him in, dying over and over again. Missing Ianto had left an abyss where his heart used to be.

_I need you so bad_, Jack thought desperately. _I need to find you. If there's any chance you're alive, any chance at all, I'll take it._

A vibration in his pocket awoke him from his dark thoughts. He eyed the caller ID bemusedly. Gwen.

"Talk to me, Gwen."

"Jack. Before you ask, _no_, I've not been able to survey all the damage to the Hub, so I'm not sure if we can salvage it yet, but I've got something to tell you."

"Shoot," Jack replied, not liking the anxiety in her voice.

"Jack, when I first got back to Cardiff and I looked at the wreckage of the Tourist Office, Ianto's coffee machine was there, completely unharmed. I put it into storage with some other odd bits and pieces, and when I went back this morning to check on everything and put some more stuff in with it…well…"

A sinking feeling seized Jack's insides, and he barked, "Spit it out, Gwen!"

"Jack, don't snap at me. I called to tell you the coffee machine is missing from the storage unit. Someone's been in our stuff."

Jack swore, raising his spare hand to his temple and rubbing his forehead. He focused on keeping his breathing even – the only thing he had left of Ianto was gone. Fuck. Fu---

"---but I found something you might be interested in."

Jack raised his head, "What?"

"I can't be sure, but I think I found blood. Only a bit, but I think it is."

"Gwen, blood is blood. Red, smells of rust, you know the deal."

"This particular blood is green, Jack. Our visitor is not human."

The colour drained from Jack's face, "Okay, I'll be there as soon as I can. Take a sample of the blood and keep it on your person at all times. It looks like our perp slipped up."

"See you soon, Jack. Rhys…sends his condolences."

Jack flipped the phone shut, lips white.

What would an alien want with Ianto's coffee machine? The green blood narrowed the species down significantly, but still wasn't enough, and running a blood diagnostic would be extremely difficult without the Hub's hive of alien technology. Although, he supposed, he could always ring in a favour…

Flipping his phone back open again, Jack dialed one number for someone on his speed dial. Someone infallible in times of a crisis.

A husky female voice answered, "Hello?"

"Is that the song of a nightingale I hear?"

"Jack? What are you doing calling me after all that's been on?"

"I need a favour. You heard about the Hub?"

"No, what about it?"

"Destroyed. Moved what we could save to emergency storage, including an unscathed coffee maker---" Jack broke off, voice cracking.

"Jack? Jack, what's wrong?"

"Ianto. Ianto died."

There was a pause Jack felt went on forever, and he heard the tiny noises of a woman crying. Then

"I know."

This caught Jack off guard. Then he happened to remember that despite how much he loved her as a person, Martha was still UNIT. She would no doubt know all he knew about the past week. He swiped away some stray tears that had crept out, and said, "Well, I guess I could have predicted that."

"Jack, I'm so sorry."

"Martha, I know. Me too. Now his body's been snatched and I need to get it back before I get the hell off this damn planet. It feels _off_."

"The planet or the situation?"

"Both. The coffee machine was stolen from the emergency storage and the thief left some blood. Green blood. Without the Hub I can't run the proper blood work and I won't be able to find out what an alien would want with Ianto's coffee machine."

Jack listened as Martha wiped her face, and tapped at a keyboard, and smiled as she replied, "Well…this goes against everything UNIT stands for, but I'll give you a hand. God knows you need them. You're so lucky you've got _Survivors of the End of the World Club_ benefits."

"Martha Jones, I do love you. Can you make it down to Cardiff? Gwen and I will meet you in the Plass by the Hub wreckage, tomorrow at midday."

"Sure thing, Jack. And listen --- I really am gutted." She sniffed, and it sounded more like a sob. Jack's throat tightened.

"I know."

He hung up.

Taking one last look at the London skyline from his place among the clouds, Jack turned and made his way towards the stairs. Back to Cardiff…

_…without him._


	6. Here's Your Letter

_A/N: Deluxe long chapter this time. I had a day off today because I'm ill, and this is the result. This explores the 'strange people' you're wondering about, and their back-stories, and we see Jack and the team again, puzzling over several strange occurrences. Ianto comes into it not as much as some of you may like, but I promise the next chapter is almost entirely based around Ianto and Jack, searching for each other, though one of them doesn't realize it at the time. Anyways, as usual, readers, do review, it makes my day. Enjoy.  
_

* * *

When you wake up on an operating table with plugs shoved into holes in your chest and forearms after dying while working for Torchwood, several things go through your mind.

The first was how you came to be sitting on that operating table; Ianto could not conclusively prove that the two strangers he woke up to had stolen him from wherever he was meant to be, he had noticed the distinct lack of his fellow Torchwood operatives.

The second was _why the holy hell there were plugs shoved in his body_. He was fairly certain the large holes the plugs were plugged into weren't there when he'd last been alive. He yanked them out and screamed with the pain, and watched as blood slowly oozed from the wounds, warmly flowing down his torso and sides. He winced---

---the third happened to be a thought he couldn't form into coherent words. It was screaming anguish at his white shirt being ruined. And now his black suit trousers, he noted, as the blood began to spread into them.

The fourth was him wondering who the hell was calling him 'cariad' and _who the fuck did they think they were?_

The fifth was inexplicable, overwhelming happiness.

He was alive.

_Alive._

He barely noted the presence of a non-descript man and strange woman at his sides, running for bandages for the wounds they'd inflicted on him, saying that _he shouldn't have just yanked the plugs out, it was a delicate procedure_ and _he was going to get blood everywhere_ in the nice, white room. A word formed, half-whispered on his lips, and he found he was hideously parched. Water was there in a cup at his mouth almost as soon as he'd formed the thought – the fierce-looking woman smiled sympathetically.

"Residual psychic energy. We're all linked for the moment. It'll pass."

Ianto nodded numbly, guzzling down the water as fast as his sore throat and muscles would allow. He tried the word out again, with no sound, to see how it felt on his dry lips, and wondered where he was.

_Jack._

"Oh, cariad, you won't be able to see him just yet. You've got cleansing and training to go through."

Something in him snapped, though possibly not at the right thing. He gripped the woman's wrist in a white-knuckle grasp and rasped, _"Don't call me cariad."_

The plain man appeared at his other side, eyes angry, and hissed, "I'd watch your tone, Ianto Jones. We've just done you a huge favour." There was something of an edge to the man's tone that Ianto didn't like – it made the hairs on his arms and neck stand up. It practically screamed _unnatural_.

The pair grasped Ianto's upper arms, avoiding touching his lower arms and torso which had now, miraculously, been heavily bandaged with tourniquets. They hoisted him up with surprising ease, he thought, as the woman was shorter than him by a significant margin and the man was thinner than him. He allowed them to support him – his muscles were all tensed, and no matter how hard he tried, he could not relax them.

"Ah. That's the rigor mortis, Ianto. It'll dissipate after the injection."

His mind sparked at the word injection. He desperately wet his lips, and croaked, "Who are you people?"

"Friends, Ianto. We're your friends. We're here to make you better."

And with that, they pulled him into the dimly light corridor, and down to God knows where.

* * *

Martha did not like this at all.

It's not the skeleton of the Hub that gets her, or the knowledge that they'd lost Tosh's body in the explosion, or the terrible broken look Jack tries to hide.

Nor is it the tears that look like they're always just behind Gwen's eyes, hanging in place, or the haggard, tired way Rhys moves to protectively hold Gwen around the stomach, instinctively wanting to protect their future.

It was the fact that this blood, this damned sample of emerald blood, was from one of the most dangerous and rare species in the whole Universe, and Martha had _no fucking clue_ how to go about tracking the creature down.

Her fingers froze at her keyboard, and then scrolled down on the pad of the laptop. Just their luck that the last remnant of Ianto at Torchwood had been stolen by a creature able to change its genetic code at will.

"The Umbreyta?" Gwen raised an eyebrow, leaning back into Rhys' embrace ever so slightly.

"Goes by many names. That's the Icelandic one, where they were first found. Let's just see…" Martha tapped at the keys anxiously, and sat back, satisfied, "There's the Welsh for you."

"The Drawsffurfio?" Rhys frowned, glancing at Gwen as comprehension dawned on her face, then looked back to Martha, "It's called 'transform'."

Martha nodded, gulping, "This species can blend in perfectly to human civilization. They have the ability to change itself into a human at will. The blood, the appearance, the brain structure, everything. It's only ever been photographed poorly because generally an observer only has a split second window to see it before it returns to its human form and disappears into a crowd."

She clicked, and pictures flooded the screen. Jack peered over her shoulder; he could make out large black spines, indigo skin, and wide, pure white eyes. He grunted in apprehension, "That's not a lot to work with, Martha."

She rolled her eyes, "I know, Jack. The only hope we have is to analyze the crime scene further with what little equipment I could bring and see if that turns up anything."

Jack groaned, pushing off from the wall of the warehouse in frustration, and spun around to glare at the sky, when something caught his eye.

_Speak of the devil._

On the roof of the warehouse, perched like some terrible gargoyle, was the Umbreyta; the Drawsffurfio; the damn thing that took the coffee machine.

The spines sprouting from its back, its skull, and its arms and calves were pitch-black and deadly-looking – they sang _I've come to kill you_. Its indigo skin glistened and glowed subtly in the light afternoon air, and although its white eyes suggested blindness, Jack felt a coldness spreading in his stomach and knew that it was looking

right

at

him.

Somehow, its posture betrayed its true intentions. While the spines and skin and eyes bayed for his blood, the posture whispered curiosity. It cocked its head to one side, studying Jack for some immeasurable moment, and then raised the hand it had previously held behind its back.

In that long, slender-fingered hand was a coffee mug, its contents steaming faintly. Jack watched the creature take a sip, and clasp the cup in both hands, briefly, before leaping off the roof, and landing beside Jack, as nimble and light as a cat. The team froze in shock, staring numbly at the creature, before watching it hold out the mug for Jack, not a drop of the contents spilt.

As if sensing an opportune moment, the wind sent a tiny breeze towards the steam rising from the mug, carrying its scent directly to Jack's nose.

And suddenly Jack felt sick and giddy and terrified and hopeful all at once because there was _that smell_ that he knew only one person could provide in a cup of coffee. And he winced and grinned at the same time because this was a lead. This was deliberate. This was someone trying to tell him something. He took the mug into his hands and drank deeply, eyes closed, and when he opened his eyes to the sound of air rushing by and feet on a hollow container he could see the Umbreyta running back up the wall of the warehouse, hoisting itself over onto the roof and footsteps thudding away into silence.

Jack sat with a soft thud, the mug drained of coffee and a stupid smile on his face. The others shook themselves, as if out of a trance, and turned to him, dumbstruck. Rhys was the first to break the vacuum of their reverie.

"Hate to be Captain Obvious, but that seemed deliberate."

* * *

_Some time earlier…_

They watched Ianto scream in agony through the one-way mirror for quite some time.

Eventually Cath clicked her tongue in disapproval, "Maybe this was a bad idea, Learner. He's in a bad way – maybe we should have waited for the rigor mortis to wear off naturally before we stuck that stuff in him."

Learner raised his eyebrows, "You and I both know the solution wouldn't have taken so well if we'd waited. You want him to be like us, _correct_?"

She eyed his human face anxiously. It was unsettling to hear his alien voice coming from his human body. Usually Learner was more careful about putting on a human tone; but not here, in the Basement. She sighed.

"He wasn't so far off being like us when he was Torchwood. They have the Hub, we have the Basement. We have Officials, they have operatives. Pretty similar."

Her companion's eyes turned dark, and he laughed derisively, "Though we don't have a catchy name like _Torchwood_. Cath, what we deal with here is much more serious than what they deal with. Without us, there would be no Earth for Torchwood to watch over. We're watching the watchmen, so to speak." His lips quirked into an easy smile, "God, we really are like something out of their comic books, aren't we?"

Cath scratched her arm absently, eying her pitch-black tattoos warily. Learner had it easy.

He'd never been human, not really. He could change his blood, and his brain, and his face, but underneath all that he was still an alien. Cath had been normal, once upon a time. She couldn't stop herself from thinking like a human.

_It was like she was on fire. It was a freak accident, no fault of her own – the mosquito had been in a box in transit from South America, and it had been just her luck to open that box to check its contents at the warehouse and get bitten._

_And now here she was, dying of frickin' yellow fever. Typical._

_She was in the toxic stage, and far gone. She looked at her hands as she tossed and turned, her abdomen in agony, and still found herself startled by the yellow colour her skin had become. Huh, yellow fever. Duh, Catharine._

_She knew that right now the doctors were expecting her to recover. The disease was only deadly in 20% of cases, and so the odds were good for her to be just fine. But Cath could feel it in her bones; she was not going to make it through this. She could feel the virus everywhere, feel it spreading and multiplying and killing her cells. Despite the respirator, she felt her throat constrict, and tears prick at her eyes. A song she'd heard long ago sprung to mind – 'the last contagious victim of this plague between us' – and wanted to sob. Darkness was spreading at the corners of her vision – not long yet._

_Catharine Ryan was 19 and engaged when she passed away, just two days from her 20th birthday._

_She was just 20 when she was brought back._

_It was a painful process, coming back. Absolute agony. If she'd thought the yellow fever made her insides itch and scalded her skin, then she was sadly mistaken. She'd take the fever a hundred times over if this pain would just stop. Compared to this, yellow fever was a cold bath, a walk in the park in winter._

_And then it stopped, and she felt cool hands on her arms, and soft comforting whispers in her ears. She chanced a glance to the source of the voice and addictive coolness, and looked into pure white eyes in an indigo, humanoid face. The creature stared back evenly, one hand smoothing her red hair back from her sweaty face and the other rubbing icy circles on her back, and Cath thought she'd never seen something – someone – so beautiful_

"_It's okay," the creature said. "Cath, you're back. You're safe."_

"_Who…are…you?" Cath managed, her throat pitifully dry._

"_My name is Learner. I'm sorry"._

_Then the injection came._

She placed her hand in Learner's squarely, and squeezed, missing the cold feel his other skin had. She rested her head on his shoulder, "Learner, one day you'll understand."

Ianto Jones had stopped writhing and screaming. He got up slowly, and approached the one-way mirror, pressing both hands to it and scanning its surface.

Learner and Cath watched him, with bated breath. His eyes focused, and he was looking at them,_ through the mirror_. He smiled tentatively, before smashing it with his fists.

Learner exhaled gustily, "Hello there. Feel better?"

* * *

They scanned the mug in every possible way with every bit of technology they had, and surprisingly found something. The whole mug was covered in writing in invisible ink.

They found it far too easily. The ink showed under a simple black light, suggested by Rhys, who said 'You secret agent types are bound to need to use that stuff at some point'. Jack smiled softly at the memory. The creature had wanted them to find the messages – the only problem now was translating them. They had the language in their system; it was a language picked up from intercepted alien signals, and they had only been able to distinguish letter combinations and what could possibly be the alphabet. However, the print on the mug was so small that they had to do it manually.

As Ianto would say, _run through it the old-fashioned way. With my eyes._ Jack laughed, thinking of the Welshman fondly. If translating this message was what would lead him to any remnants of Ianto, so be it. They'd get there.

"Jack." Jack looked up from his contemplation of life, the universe, and everything, and saw Gwen looking at him expectantly.

"Gwen?"

"Jack, the translation's done. You might like to read it."


	7. All Of This

_A/N: Aww, no reviews at all for the last chapter! I don't know whether you were stunned into silence or hated it! Very sad. Anyways, here is a new and extremely long chapter for you. No Torchwood Team except Jack, and of course Ianto, but I have written Eleventh Doctor, and his companion Amy Pond, into this, as I think they look AWESOME. At least, from what I've seen in pictures. I can't wait to see if they live up to my expectations. No reunions just yet, but we'll see. Do review this one, pleaaaase, even if it's to tell me you hate me and wish I'd never continue. (hopefully) Enjoy.  
_

* * *

_Everything was extremely clear, and extremely easy_, Ianto mused, as he whirled and weaved through the Officials' training course. _Things had never been this easy before._

He barely winced as a thick blade bit into his shoulder with a heavy thud; the wound would be healed by the time he finished the course, living nothing but a thin scar which looked like he'd gotten it years ago.

Several days had passed since the pain of revival and the injection, and Ianto Jones had not thought of Jack Harkness once. And in Learner's opinion, he was all the better for it. That man, ravaged by time and yet unharmed, was a poison to Ianto's potential, and it was better that he forgot him. Learner eyed his stopwatch, which was still running. 2 minutes thus far – this would be the best time a subject had ever managed.

Ianto ran to the checkpoint with amazing speed and strength and Learner stopped the watch. 2 minutes 30 seconds, dead. Cath stood, congratulating Ianto, and then led him to where Learner was standing, stopwatch in hand and a triumphant smile on his face.

They watched nervously as Ianto spotted the stopwatch, as if gauging his reaction and analyzing whether he'd be a threat. He looked at the time, grinned, and raised his hand to stroke through his short crop of hair.

Then the grin faltered, and the hand clutched, for one mere second, then Ianto Jones swiftly turned it around. _Just a headache_, he thought absently. _Nothing to worry about_. He smiled widely at Cath and Learner, who eyed him with a speculative expression, and walked off, and wondered why someone else's memories had appeared in his head. A man in clothes of an earlier time, no face that Ianto could make out, but a grey RAF greatcoat draped around his shoulders. He saw another faceless man, too, next to the other – dressed in a tidy black suit and red shirt. He seemed familiar, but Ianto felt it could not be him; the man radiated _weakness_, screamed _mortal_.

He shrugged it off. Probably just a side-effect.

* * *

_"Captain Jack Harkness and the remnants of the Torchwood Institute, Branch Three. Greetings. We send you this message in hopes you will be smart enough to find it. We didn't make it too hard just in case you were as stupid as we originally thought. You have shot at bulletproof glass on one occasion – I'm sure you remember, Captain. You may think that we have been being careless with our endeavours – the coffee machine, the blood, letting you spot one of our Officials – but all has been intentional. As you read this, Ianto Jones is in our possession. You can thank us later for what is being done. If you wish to see him again, don't hesitate to find the Basement. Ask the right people and you'll find us – but beware. What you find may not be what you want to see, and you may not recognize what you are faced with. However, we have one condition – leave Gwen Cooper and Martha Jones at home. This is for your eyes only. Fear not, the right person will appear momentarily."_

Jack furrowed his brow after reading the translation aloud for the umpteenth time, feeling as though his spine had been frozen solid and was now trying to break free from his back. This gave some answers, but many more questions – who were the Officials? Where was the Basement? Who was this person they had sent?

He presumed they'd sent whoever it was. Although the way his life was going, anything could happen.

He got up off of the dingy bed in his hotel room and sighed, braces hanging about his hips and boots kicked off haphazardly on the floor. His greatcoat was draped over the one chair in the room, which was placed in front of a lopsided desk with a television perched carefully on the higher side. He padded softly to the room's bathroom to splash some water on his face, then froze in place as he felt the strangest sensation go through him, and his ears pricked up, hearing the faintest sound outside. His flesh felt as though it was buzzing, and he clenched his fists subconsciously; this did not feel _right_.

He walked on auto-pilot, losing control of his own body, and reached the window, where the curtains (which clashed rather horribly with the floral wallpaper, being bright green) were drawn, hiding the night's view from his tired eyes. He opened them a tiny fraction, and peered out into the darkness, and felt himself inhale sharply at what he saw.

_That damn blue box._ He should have known. And yet his Doctor was not standing outside of the TARDIS, staring resolutely at his window. The only signs of life outside were a young man with dark hair reading a newspaper some distance from the box on a bench, and a redheaded girl sitting next to him, texting on her phone. He shook his head.

He was going to hammer on that door and demand to be let in. Or answers. Preferably both.

Speedily he pulled on his boots, pulled up his braces, and slung his heavy greatcoat on, and ran out of his hotel room, having just enough time to grab the keycard and his phone as he left. Feet pounding the ground furiously, he ran out of the hotel and stared at the blue box with a mixture of happiness and anger. If the Doctor was any part of this whole thing, Jack was going to be having words; although admittedly, he should have seen this coming. He approached the police box tentatively, feeling its energy hum at it approached.

_Ah, Jack_, she seemed to say. _One of my own, back to the fold._

"Jack."

He spun promptly on his feet, tearing himself away from the familiar feeling the TARDIS seemed to emit, and found himself face to face with the dark-haired young man and redheaded girl from the bench down the street.

Jack scrutinized the young man – he wore a tweed jacket with a lavender shirt and red bow-tie, and faded black trousers turned up to reveal equally faded black walking boots. The newspaper was tucked under his arm, folded perfectly. The girl's red hair flowed easily over her shoulders, and she had a pretty, innocent face, marked with happiness and an oh-so familiar spark of knowledge behind her brown eyes. She wore a large light blue sweater and black shorts, with grey tights and dark red high-tops, with thick black socks just peeking over their rim.

All at once, Jack felt anguish flood into him, as well as some hope. This was not _his_ Doctor – but it was _the_ Doctor.

"Doctor. You seem to get younger every time. New companion?"

The man nodded once, and said in a quiet, musical voice, "Her name is Amy. We've come to – well, I suppose you already know."

Jack swallowed, "Yeah. But, Doctor – how did you die?"

His questioned was greeted by a resolute shake of the head, "Not yet, Jack. I can't tell you anything until the right time."

"Right. Timey-wimey stuff. I get it."

The Doctor looked to his companion, who smiled and said, "Well, let's go then."

The trio headed for the blue police box together, and Jack noticed that the Doctor was still vaguely uncomfortable around him. _Some things_, he thought, _will never change_.

* * *

"His IQ is off the scale. His reaction times are immaculate. His brain activity is at perfect efficiency – he runs at 100% until he sleeps; then it goes down to 10%. He saves energy beautifully. He's the ideal machine – just what we need!" Learner raved, as he and Cath watched Ianto sleep in the pods they reserved for Basement personnel. Cath frowned, biting at her sharp nails pensively.

_Sure. He was all of that and more_. He was perfect, but she couldn't help wondering if this life was right for Ianto. Watching his memories back on the heavy machinery while Ianto was dealing with the injection had made her feel uncomfortable – this was a man who had memories of both unimaginable danger and strange, otherworldly creatures; of pain and anguish and misery, teamed with quiet memories of sitting in the Hub with that Harkness creature, calm and serene, and at other times passionate and painful and raw.

_Would the block they'd put on that part of his brain hold?_

"--- and his speed, I've never seen any of our Officials work that way. It's like he was _born_ for this!" Learner looked at her expectantly, now in his true form – his wide white eyes stared at her from his glimmering indigo face. His black spines quivered expectantly.

She placed her hand in his and smiled, squeezing it softly, "Yeah. He's perfect for the Officials. Truly unique."

Learner eyed her skeptically, then his gaze drifted to her tattoos, which were etched everywhere, even on her face. Distracted, he questioned, "Cath, tell me again why you got those?"

She hummed appreciatively, "You've never asked before." Cath sucked a great breath in, and exhaled, "I wanted people to know I'm dangerous, not of their world. I wanted them to see it on every inch of my skin, and feel fear in their hearts when I walked by. I wanted everyone – especially _you_ – to know that I am the best of the best, and no new kids are gonna change that."

Cath glared into Learner's gaze until she felt him wince under the power of her eyes. Her grip on his hand became a vice, and she noted how her nails bit into even his thick skin.

"Lord knows I love you to the ends of the Earth, Learner, but you and the old team ripped out every part of me that was human and rebuilt the remnants into something no one would recognize. A horrible mistake. I just wanted _the rest of the world_ to know what you did to me, and make sure it doesn't happen to anyone else."

She turned mutely to Ianto, who she was surprised to see staring back up at her evenly. She did not balk from his gaze, instead offered him her other hand, pulling him up with something Ianto identified as unnatural strength.

"Come on, Ianto Jones._ Let me show you what you could have become._"

* * *

_There was that noise again_, thought Jack. Completely unique, nothing like it – in all his eternities of living, he'd never found anything that could make him feel the same way as the TARDIS' leaving siren did.

He practically tingled with anticipation as he rocked on the balls of his feet, hands clasped behind his back. The TARDIS was the same as ever on the inside, but the people in it were suddenly alien to him. Maybe that was the way it was meant to be.

"So, um…Doctor. Can you tell me anything about what's going on?"

He didn't seem to be able to get used to seeing the new Doctor's young face stare up at him with such sadness and age in his eyes. Under the full strength of the Doctor's stare, he felt himself fill with dread.

"Nothing good, then?"

The Doctor shook his head, then paused in what he was doing, clearly thinking. Then, in that new, quiet voice which still held just as much gravitas as his old one, the sound carrying perfectly well to Jack's ears despite him standing some distance away, the Doctor replied.

"You'll get him back. He won't be the same. But you'll get him back."

Jack blinked, then smiled.

"That's something; no, wait. That's _everything_."

* * *

"She's fantastic."

Ianto looked at Learner as he said it, and Learner looked back with a grimace.

"Fantastic, but we broke her. There was a point at which we had balance, and we should have left it there. Like we did with you."

Ianto stared, openly stared. He had not yet grown accustomed to Learner's real form, but could make out sadness in his blank, staring eyes – and a strange sort of hunger. It made him want to flinch away. He swallowed, and sighed.

"I feel like I'm missing something. I keep seeing these pictures in my head and I don't know where they came from. There's this man, and there's something so familiar about him, but I don't know why."

"That's…a side effect. It'll pass."

Ianto stewed over this awhile, then curtly nodded, instead turning to watch Cath on the training course. Droids sprang up from all around her, and she came up with increasingly unique and brutal methods of crumpling them and reducing them to the recyclable dust they decomposed into. Ianto's stomach fluttered at the pure strength of it, and yet something was off. He knew in his heart that this woman was _wrong_. He knew that every so often he got terrible migraines which made him wretch hollowly and remember the weak, mortal man in the suit and the strange man with the greatcoat. And he could remember how to make coffee from a machine he felt he'd never seen before in his life.

"Coffee, Learner?"

"Yes. That would be excellent, thank you Ianto."

Ianto headed out of the spectator's booth, and down the hall, thinking of stopwatches and hockey sticks, and wondering why.

* * *

The TARDIS made its infamous sound again, and Jack knew they had reached wherever he needed to be.

"We're actually here yesterday, which was unexpected," the girl (_Amy_, Jack reminded himself) said, glancing at her Doctor with what looked like a pointed glare, "So you'll have to stay here tonight."

Jack opened his mouth to protest, but was cut off by the Doctor, who said, tersely, in a near whisper, "They're not ready for you yet. They know you're here now, but they need to organize some things. We can't even let you outside yet."

He knew at once his protests would fall on deaf ears, "I suppose you two will be off somewhere, though?"

The Doctor nodded, "Yes. To visit them and make sure they're sorted. You know where your room is, Jack. Don't make this difficult."

Amy grinned, "Don't touch anything – I learnt that lesson on the first day."

Jack smiled, though it held no warmth for her. He felt as though he was being treated as a first-timer. _Amy, you just wait. You'll see your Doctor and I dance this dance again and again._

Her and the Doctor began to leave. Jack caught the Doctor's arm.

"Doctor. You've…you've changed."

A small, sad smile, "I know Jack. I know."

And with that the pair walked out of the TARDIS and into the unknown, Jack left behind. He heard the Doctor lock the door, and sighed heavily. He'd be getting no sleep tonight, no doubt. Out of habit, he shoved his hands into the deep pockets of his coat, despite it not being cold. Kicking off his boots and scooping them up with one hand, he walked slowly through a doorway and down a long corridor, stopping just before what he remembered was his room. Here was the Doctor's inner sanctum – his wardrobe.

Jack had always liked this room, with it's overflowing shelves and rails groaning under the weight of so many different clothes. He breathed in its heady scent – no matter how much the Doctor changed physically, his smell was always the same. It smelt achingly familiar, and equally as sad – he smiled, because it was the smell he woke up to when he cheated death for the first time, and was left all alone.

But suddenly he noticed something at the end of a rail, in its own plastic wrapping to keep the smell out. A suit – black suit and tie, red shirt, Ianto's. Presumably they'd need it. Practically running, he picked up the wrapped ensemble by the hanger, and carried it out of the room. If he was going to open it anywhere, it wouldn't be in this room, where the scent of time and space could contaminate the only smell that kept him grounded to the Earth.

He headed into his room, and smiled at how the bed was still rumpled and disheveled from the last time Jack had slept – or attempted to sleep – there. He sat down on it after dropping his boots and draping his coat over a chair, and then opened the wrapping.

Somehow, Jack's nose was hypersensitive to Ianto. He could smell coffee, and aftershave, and cleanliness. Toast, cotton, and aromatherapy soap given to him by Gwen. Breathing in something so familiar had Jack gasping on the bed, remembering _everything._

And somehow, this hurts and heals him more than words could say.

* * *

There was something comforting about making coffee. Something beautiful and rhythmic, something that Ianto could appreciate even now, with a headache coming on.

He leant against the sticky countertop of the Basement's kitchenette – he'd worked for two (_well, three, if you separate One from Three_) secret organizations, and yet this feature – the faded, green plastic countertops, the coffee stains marking it, the floor making tiny ripping noises whenever he moved his feet – never changed in any of them.

The coffee was percolating nicely and the smell was slowly drifting out. Ianto inhaled it like a drug.

And then he fell, clutching his head.

He could hear a strange buzzing noise in his ears, and feel ants crawling under his skin, in his scalp, and suddenly he couldn't feel his body. He closed his eyes to the suddenly searing kitchen air and grit his teeth – and slowly started to piece things together.

The faces were appearing on the people in his head. There was the Japanese woman, and the frog-faced man, the Welsh woman with the doe eyes, then the other two.

He put names to faces. _Toshiko Sato. Dr. Owen Harper. Gwen Cooper-Williams_.

The strange man was materializing, and Ianto felt his heart leap.

_Captain Jack Harkness._

With a smile big enough to light up the room, Ianto remembered Jack with all of his being, feeling the longing and the – _dare he say it?_ – love flooding back and warming his soul back into life. With a sinking heart, he realized the man in the suit – the weakling, the coffee boy – was him, and had been all along. He scowled, not wishing to be connected with someone so pliable and mortal.

Another sharp pain shot through his body, and he bent double on the floor. _No. Not weak. Just human. Remember being human._

The ache in his limbs faded as Cath and Learner rushed into the room and Cath pushed a button on some remote in her hands – the remote lit up bright green and then faded through angry amber into a dripping red, and as it did, the agony dissipated.

Cath looked at Learner with anger in her eyes, "You couldn't leave well enough alone, could you?"

"But…Cath, I---"

"_No_. You tried to turn him into me. You know that could have killed him – he wouldn't have overcome the mental block like me. You'd have turned him into a semi-alien husk of a human, with no emotions or morals or sense of right or wrong. A killing machine. _Is that what you wanted?_" Cath shook Learner by the shoulders, and stormed out.

Ianto looked at Learner with a question in his eyes, and said but one word, "Jack."

Learner nodded, "Soon. Let me explain some things."

They walked slowly through the corridors of the Basement, and Ianto winced at the damp, subterranean smell he had never noticed before. He passed many rooms - one pitch black, with a blue police box in the corner - until they finally reached a large, white room – Ianto felt a spark of familiarity.

The mahogany furniture was not pushed to the walls this time, the floor uncovered by thick cables. The blood – _my blood_, Ianto remembered – had been cleaned up by disposable personnel, and a large armchair was sat behind a heavy, dark desk. Ianto sat down in the regular chair in front of the desk, as Learner took the armchair.

"I think you need to know what we've done to you."

"I think so too."

"We've watched you your entire life, you know. We waited for you to die – well, more _hoped_. You needed to be young. We couldn't kill you like we did with Cath, planting a disease-carrying mosquito in a package we knew she'd open. Well, many mosquitoes in many packages, but we needn't go into that."

Learner paused to draw breath.

"If you hadn't died in your twenties, we'd have no business left with you. We only recruit the young. We took your body from where you died and we brought you back to life. That bit, no doubt, you remember."

Ianto nodded curtly – the cold fingers of the plugs in his chest and arms were hard to forget.

"Then you'll recall the injection. We injected nanogenes, and certain aiding chemicals, straight to your heart. They entered your bloodstream and fixed every part of you that had started to waste away after your death. However, after seeing you recover so quickly, I did not push the kill trigger on them. I thought I'd let them do _more_."

Learner waited, his spines bristling anxiously, eyes searching for some reaction in Ianto's face. Seeing nothing except whitened lips, he went on.

"Right now, your muscle tissue is brand new, and your fat levels are down to a permanently low level. Your bones are stronger, you heal immeasurably fast, and your senses are unparalleled. You are the ideal Official – beyond that really, as you broke the mind block completely. Even Cath didn't do that, though she believes she did. She hasn't found the part of her brain which stops her lusting for blood. You have. Hence the agonizing headaches and itching under the skin."

Ianto smiled slightly at that, quirking an eyebrow, "You still haven't told me why you picked me and what this organization does."

Learner frowned, "That's…need-to-know basis only."

_"I need to know."_

* * *

"The Officials are beyond Torchwood. They are the people who deal with the threats too big to allow Torchwood to deal with. They, for example, monitor the Earth's conditions, keeping natural disasters to the possible minimum. They monitor the Earth's core, intercept alien signals on frequencies you can't imagine, and they fight the good, the bad and the ugly alike. They're like super-charged soldiers who have access to technology only beaten by mine. Their ranks know both aliens and humans. They form alliances with space to keep out the worst targeting the Earth. And they are very, very dangerous."

Jack sat back after hearing the Doctor out (once he'd returned), and marveled. This was the most the man had said all day – Jack guessed it was necessary.

"Why did they want Ianto?"

"Jack, Ianto survived Torchwood One, kept a half-converted Cyberman in Torchwood's basement, and used your emotions to keep it a secret. There's more going on there than you can even begin to understand. His potential…even I've seen it. I was considering him as a companion, until you hired him."

Jack nodded, then rested his face in his hands, rubbing his eyes tiredly. He noted that the Doctor never lost his penchant for drama.

"Can you tell me what's happened to him?"

His reply was a sad smile and a shake of the head.

"Come on Jack, time to face the day," Amy said, shaking her hair out of its ponytail. Jack hoped she stayed pretty, and kept that innocence about her. But one look into her eyes told him it had already been lost.

The TARDIS doors opened for him, and Jack looked out.

_Welcome_

_to_

_the_

_Basement._


	8. Stockholm Syndrome

_A/N: Sorry for the slow update. Week from hell, honestly. Hope you stick with it, enjoy.  
_

* * *

All Jack could see at first was that they were in a dimly lit room, and that the TARDIS' doors had opened so that he could see out of the open door of the room, and into the murky corridor beyond. A strange, marshy smell crept into his nostrils, and he frowned. They must be underground.

He listened for a while to the Doctor and Amy's breathing behind him, trying to summon up some strength to venture into the unknown. This was for Ianto, he reminded himself. _Necessary sacrifice._

"Can't you even tell me whereabouts underground I am?"

He swore he could hear the Doctor shake his head. He lowered his head, sighing, then stepped out of the comfort and security the police box provided. Jack glanced back at his temporary companions. The girl smiled sadly, and the Doctor drew a breath to say his parting words in that low, melodic voice.

"We'll be back for you afterwards. But we can't help you."

And with that, the doors to the TARDIS swung shut, and Jack listened to it as it left, gradually fading into nothing. So. This was the Basement.

He walked slowly into the corridor, and glanced up and down its length, and spotted a light on in a white room some distance from him. He walked quietly, as stealthily as he could, and peered around the doorframe.

No one was there. The room was so bright it hurt for him to look at it after the dusty darkness of the previous room, but he squinted, and saw that it was done up in high-quality mahogany furniture. _There's always something sinister about mahogany furniture_, Jack thought, and gasped when he caught the harsh smell of cleaning chemicals marring the otherwise unscented room. Beyond that, he caught the unmistakable metallic tang of human blood. He shuddered. All was not as it seemed here.

Upon the desk sat a large television, showing nothing but static rolling like waves across the screen. Jack began to inspect the books on one large bookcase when suddenly the static ended and an image of a boring-looking man appeared on the screen. At first Jack only stared, then moved so that he was in front of the television, staring the man directly in the eyes. You can imagine he jumped a mile when the man on the screen said his name.

"Captain Jack Harkness. It's the right time and all. Welcome."

Jack worried about his mental state as he responded, giving a short salute and a, "Hey there."

"Hey there indeed. My name is Learner, and you'll be surprised to know we've met before. No doubt I looked a little different, but let's see if I can refresh your memory, hmm?"

Before Jack's eyes, the man shimmered and shook and suddenly in his place was the alien they'd encountered back at the warehouse. The Umbreyta. His jaw dropped as he watched the white eyes stare resolutely back at him, and the forked tongue thread out to lick its lips.

"There now. Close your mouth, Captain; it's _obscenely_ rude to stare. You've no doubt been escorted here by the Doctor, hmm? And his charming companion Miss Pond. Lovely people, those two. They checked in on us yesterday to make sure that they were in the right time and place. Well, didn't check in physically, but we caught them on the CCTV and ignored his blue box in our room. That room was made specifically for right now, you know. In fact, be a dear and fetch the name-slate from the door for me."

When Jack made no movements to leaving, the creature frowned and said, "No, really. We'll carry on when you get back. Any funny business and I'll be sending Officials to restrain you."

With a sigh, Jack shook his head disbelievingly at the screen, "Sure, I'll be back in a minute."

At a brisk jog he made the journey back to the room quickly, and pulled the door towards him. Hanging off a hook on the door was an old-fashioned slate, and scratched onto it, clear as day, were the words

_TARDIS_

_landing_

_room_.

Jack's brow immediately furrowed in fear as he walked slowly back to the white room, still staring at the slate. His head snapped up when he heard the television image saying impatiently, "Come on, Captain, we've not got all day." He jogged back, and held the slate up for the screen to see.

"This the one?"

"Ah, yes. You see, your Doctor – not the one you were just with, the previous one – came to us a while back and told us of what was going to happen in London with those aliens. The 456, I think you call them. He mentioned you and your coffee boy – Mr. Ianto Jones, _number 14 _– and told us that we were not to do anything until we'd heard that the 456 were gone. If they were not defeated by _you specifically_, he said, we were to contact him by any means necessary."

"Why would the Doctor let those innocent people die? Those children get rounded up and almost trafficked off as a high to those dosed-up aliens? That's not the Doctor I know."

"Ah, Captain, you have much to learn. You disappoint us. For someone of Boeshane, you are insufferably ignorant."

Jack bristled indignantly, but the creature continued, "These things are sometimes necessary. Your Government was not the only one to intercept 456 signals. We heard them back in 1965 – we know what you did. And again, back then, your Doctor warned us to allow it to happen."

Jack jerked back as he heard the door behind him swing shut, and pounded at it furiously until his knuckles were raw and bleeding. Blind with fury, he turned back to the television, and roared, "What are you doing?"

"Necessary yet again, Captain. Agent Catharine and her protégé are not ready for you yet. Ah well, at least you've got me for company, hmm?"

Jack groaned, sliding down the heavy door inelegantly. This was going to seem like eternity.

* * *

_Some time earlier…_

Ianto was quite simply trapped. Somehow he'd ended back in the white room again and now Catharine was circling him, and the room had never seemed smaller.

What was once a chasm of blinding white now seemed dingy and caved in, and all he could look at was the way Cath's hands were clenched at her sides like claws, and her mouth was stretched out wider than any normal person's could, lips white and spread over a feral grin. He could not beat her, he knew that much. There was a part of his mind urging him on, pleading with him to spill her blood right there and then, but a bigger part held him back.

_No. Don't do it. You're human, Ianto. Still human._

A snarl ripped from Cath's lips in the dead space and she lunged for him. Ianto weaved, forcing his fingers into the wood of the heavy mahogany desk and flinging it into her path effortlessly. Her pointed nails bit into the desk with a violent scratching sound as she caught it and shattered it against the wall. Ianto wondered how the walls had stood up to the force of her throw – of _course_. Reinforced. This is the Basement, after all.

Panicked, Ianto backed up to the wall to see if he could push himself off to gain momentum. Perhaps he could push her over if he lunged with enough force, then figure out how to override the deadlock on the door.

Not a chance. All at once she had her hands wrapped around his wrists in a vice-like grip. Her face, twisted into an animalistic grimace, was just centimetres from his own, and she hissed, "Want to know what they put inside you when they injected you, Ianto? Want to know what those 'aiding chemicals' were?"

Ianto replied in kind. He snarled, the sound leaping out of his throat and startling Cath for a moment, before she pressed back into him, whispering in his ear.

"They juiced you up with alien, boyo. You're not as high-and-mighty human as you think you are."

He tried furiously to ignore her, but the more he tried, the more he could sense the difference in his body, feel it pulsing in his blood and singing in his bones. The feeling grew and grew, rising ever more, until he could hold it no longer.

Ianto saw red, and pushed.

Cath went careening over backwards, falling over the smashed remnants of the mahogany furniture but catching herself with lightning-fast reflexes. She glared at him, eyes aflame with fury, but some strange trace of…interest? The look made Ianto's hackles rise, and he growled from the depths of his throat and leapt at her, hands clenched into feral talons.

He connected, and they tumbled backwards. He could feel her nails ripping at his flesh through his shirt, and dimly registered that he was bleeding from where she was yanking his hair, and yet all he knew was the thirst to kill her. He knew his grip on her would leave bruises on her tattooed skin, but it only ever got stronger and more desperate, until he realized that he wasn't so much gripping as holding her to him, their breathing ragged, clothes dappled with each others' blood.

The red on her white shirt matched his, and he watched her breathing, carefully studying her face with new eyes.

Cath gathered her breath, and sighed contentedly, pulling Ianto closer to her, where they lay on top of the remnants of the white room.

"See, cariad, you're just like us. You're an Official through and through."

Ianto licked his lips pensively, and imagined he could see – and feel – the blood thrumming under her skin.

He said nothing, only touched his lips to her cheek.

* * *

Jack sighed, staring resolutely back at Learner. Neither of them had spoken for a long time, and yet he could tell that Learner was getting just as antsy as him.

Suddenly Learner's eyes unfocused, as if he was looking past Jack – to see someone else. Then the razor-sharp teeth were exposed in a grimaced, and he said, "Ah. Looks like we're ready. Although, I should have known. She's always the same with newcomers. Well, Jack, if you'll just follow me."

Learner got up from wherever he was, and walked off-screen. The television fizzed into static again. Jack frowned, then tumbled backwards to look into blank, staring eyes. The deadlocked door he had been leaning on had swung open, and there stood Learner. Jack grinned, fluttering his eyelashes at the alien.

Jack could have sworn the tall creature had rolled its eyes at him.

"Come on, oh Captain my Captain, come and meet the team."

He was lead down many winding corridors, all lit dimly and smelling of morgue. He shuddered at the faint memories it stirred – none recent, but all unpleasant. Jack couldn't help wondering why such an important operation wouldn't demand a better locale.

"Why do you guys work here?"

"Why did Torchwood work at the Hub? They're both underground."

Jack nodded, following, but inclined his head, "The Hub smelt of metal and alien. This…smells of death, and damp."

The full power of Learner's blank stare was turned on him, "Both things we work with. Now keep up, Captain."

Learner had turned abruptly down another corridor, but this one sloped downwards on a steep incline. The alien seemed to have no trouble walking down its damp, sloping surface, but Jack had no such luck. He promptly shut his mouth for fear of falling and biting his tongue off.

Eventually, they reached the end of the winding, slippery corridor, and Jack hoisted himself up to stare at the door Learner was standing expectantly at. He raised an eyebrow. Learner did the same.

"Well, Captain? Aren't you going to burst in and shoot at the figurative bulletproof glass?"

Before Jack had time to reply, the taller alien had swung the door open before him, and booted – _booted, with his foot!_ Jack thought in shock – him in, shutting the door as promptly as he'd opened it. He registered the sound of the deadlocks shunting into action.

All Captain Jack Harkness knew was darkness.

Until he heard the faint breathing from the opposite corner.

* * *

He inhaled, and his enhanced senses caught a lot of things at once.

The stranger, shoved into the darkened room with him, had the most wonderful scent he'd ever smelt. It wafted off of him like a cloud, and Ianto couldn't get enough of it.

But there was the strange undertone he'd realized he should fear. The smell of something wrong, out of time.

"Hello?"

There was that voice, familiar yet foreign at once. Ianto could have listened to it forever. Captain Jack Harkness was irresistible and repulsive, his poison and his remedy, and here he was. He wasn't sure whether he wanted to kiss him or kill him. All he was conscious of was the blood he could hear pumping anxiously through the Captain's body, and the slow, calm beat of his own heart in comparison.

He stood slowly, soundlessly, and smiled.


	9. I Miss You

_A/N: Longer chapter this time. I warn you, it's pretty grim, but I think you'll be happy with its end. I'm so tired right now, it's 1.05 am, but I needed to get this out. I think I'm better with emotion-based stuff - I didn't feel so confident writing action last time. Thank you to all who have reviewed thus far and who have stuck with the story. You guys who've got this on alert, but haven't reviewed - do review. I'd love to hear from you. Anyways, enough of me. Enjoy.  
_

* * *

Anxiety tugged at her body as she watched the CCTV feed of the door.

It was a fairly standard door for the Basement – steel, heavy-duty, dead-locked, on a swinging-outward hinge. Typical, really. She walked past, through, and out of many exact replicas every day. She slept behind one, when they found time to be quiet and still, curled around Learner's cold body. _Peaceful._

No, it was not the door which made her anxious.

It was the fact that Learner had password-protected the CCTV feeds behind the door, leaving her with one grainy view of the outside. It was the strange sounds she could just barely hear coming from the room – too quiet to distinguish as any emotion, but too loud to ignore – and it was the very constant, unchanging nature of the door itself. _Not the door._

The way the door just stood there, staring at her.

Cath sighed, swinging her legs up onto the desk and staring at the thick black bands she'd had tattooed around them. And they were so close to getting Ianto, too. Time just had to run in this god-forsaken manner so that this would be a turning point. A turning point – a point at which, in time, an important decision, or event, occurs, which has the ability to change the path of the future.

Rubbing her eyes, she blinked a few times, vision blurring. She couldn't sleep, not yet. She had to see them come out. She had to be here – and _awake _– when Learner let her see what he was seeing inside that room.

Catharine felt a cold hand on her shoulder, smoothing out the tension balled up in her shoulders effortlessly. She sighed gratefully, not needing to open her eyes to know it was Learner. He hummed as he typed with his free hand; Cath opened one eye to see him typing in a password to the CCTV feeds.

He looked at her stoically, with a hint of sadness.

She quirked an eyebrow, "That bad?"

Now it was his turn to sigh, and he nodded, "The password was 'password', by the way."

Cath and Learner linked hands, and watched.

* * *

_Some time earlier…_

How had his life been reduced to such a colossal sack of shit?

He was Learner. This was meant to be a human problem; he could deal with death, and blood, and loss, and cold, hard metal. He was an expert on all of the above.

But jealously was foreign to Learner, and he couldn't help thinking maybe he needed to stop changing himself into a human for a nice solid while. Somewhere along the line, something must have gone awry – had some of his genes remained human, or had the line between human and Umbreyta blurred so much that his body couldn't tell the difference?

He didn't know. All he knew was that he was nursing a killer headache and really needed to get some sleep.

The Basement hadn't always been this busy. Most of the time he could just tinker about with the heavy machinery, check on the semi-failed resurrection attempts, fool around with his semi-human girlfriend and maybe deflect some serious alien threats. Or at least, direct them Torchwood's way if he couldn't be bothered.

But no. They just had to get greedy and wish for Ianto Jones' death. Then they got him, and he was there and alive and alien, and just had to test it earlier than they had with any other successful candidates.

Potential Officials generally broke down at their first test – and generally their first test was much later than this. Months later than the injection. Here they were, casually throwing a raw Official into a locked room with their ex-lover, expecting him not to rip him in two.

This was where the Rift liked to give them the wrong instructions. The damn thing was just like the TARDIS, always talking. _Yes, that's right_, Learner thought bitterly, _the Officials take orders not from the Government, or the Queen; they take orders from the Rift_. Time-space _energy__…_

_…_which talks. Well, not talks, so to speak. Officials could hear it, and anyone with base-level psychic training or a natural flair. The Rift operated on a different plane to others, and Officials – _existing on two planes,_ Learner thought smugly, _thanks to his ingenious injection_ – had their minds opened to this plane, for ease of instruction.

Not that it wasn't annoying. Learner's head slumped for a second and there the Rift was, prodding at his consciousness. _Oi,_ it said. _Not yet. Watch._

He winced as he wrenched his head back upright and looked at the screen. _Brutal._ He'd long muted the sound – some things Learner could deal with; the strange ability of humans to attack one another with such ferocity was one thing he could not.

Soon he'd have to let Cath see the outcome of the first test. He scowled. She was always leching over new recruits, always leaving him behind – until the next time one failed, and she'd slink back, all warm body and warmer apologies.

Again, Learner wondered how his life had been reduced to such a colossal sack of shit, and came up with no answer.

* * *

The darkness in the room was insistent, and the floor was wet, and Jack was all too conscious of why.

This creature was not – could not be – Ianto. This creature had happily spent its time picking Jack apart, piece by piece, spilling his blood to and fro. This creature had cocked its head at his screams of agony and looked at him with Ianto's face and smiled in that lopsided way that made it that. much. _worse_.

He noted that it was quite cold, and that his skin was healing up quite nicely. He'd managed to pull his ripped shirt back on, and his broken arm lay limply at his side, where he'd set the bones – it was no use it healing up quickly if it healed up wrong and he had to break it again.

Jack spat to his side, and smiled. No blood this time. That explained why he didn't have teeth missing anymore, thrown out of his skull by fists of iron.

He'd known there would be necessary sacrifice. He'd known it would be hard.

He'd not known it'd be this damn hard and just how much he'd have to sacrifice. If he'd known he was going to be bathed in darkness for what felt like days, be tortured by someone in the body of his lover, and then sit for yet more days afterwards healing up in the cold, well…

_…he probably still would have bothered, honestly._

Some would say he was a glutton for punishment, and Jack would have to agree most enthusiastically – _and the other kind of punishment, actually,_ he thought smugly – that they were certainly correct. He wondered whether this was his punishment for hundreds of years of not caring, or thinking, or loving. And if it was, he was glad for it. It was like his mind was open again.

No, fuck that – Jack Harkness was _enlightened_, baby.

Because lying in that insistently dark room, on the wet floor, in the cold, he had a sleeping Welshman clutched to his battered and bruised chest, his breath whistling quietly in and out, face peaceful, if spattered with…well, not the best thing to be spattered with, in Jack's opinion.

This sleeping Welshman was oh-so-warm, and oh-so-responsive to Jack's tiny kisses and squeezes, that he felt that all the punishment, all the pain, and all the mental anguish had all been worth it.

Because when you're lying in an insistently dark room, on a wet floor, in the cold…

…the person clutched to your chest is somehow (rightly) the whole world.

* * *

_God_, Cath thought. _That is grim_.

"How did we end up getting mixed up with their fucked-up love-lives, Learner? I thought the Officials were meant to be saviors of the world, or something like that."

Learner snorted, staring at Cath snidely, "Cath, this – and by 'this', I mean _'they'_ – are pretty much the prerequisite of what we do. The Rift thinks it's important, so does the Doctor – that's who we take orders from."

Cath sunk into a chair, staring at the screen in front of her, upon which she'd watched Learner's playback of Jack and Ianto's…reunion, and was now watching their silence. She openly wished Learner had not shown her what Ianto had done – it felt like trespassing on something private. She hoped no-one watched footage of her when she was like that; it was not a conscious state, it was instinct, adrenaline; not a real decision; she had no choice. Only when Ianto had tired out, ran out of adrenaline and keeled over, onto the healing Jack, was he really himself. The monster who had tortured his lover for entertainment was not Ianto Jones – it was the other part of him the Officials had created.

"I think maybe we went wrong here, Learner. Maybe we should have left him alone."

Suddenly, Learner's hands were around her wrists, gripping them painfully, and his alien face was right in front of hers, eyes angry. He hissed angrily, his nails biting into her flesh.

"Agent Catharine. We have worked _too damn hard_ on Ianto Jones to let him go after this display. This was the first test and he passed – he only stopped the attack when he ran out of energy, which was far later than any other agent we've ever had. Including you. Now, love you as I do, I accept you may think that we went wrong, but you are human and soft. Don't lose your ruthlessness now – we have a fight on our hands."

Cath barely dared breathe as he moved closer, pressing his body to hers. She half expected an attack – at the very least a slap – and she tensed her body in preparation, but suddenly Learner was kissing her softer than he ever had before, hands relaxing their grasp on her wrists and coming up to cup her face gently. He pulled away, and swiped a thumb over her lips; she could feel her pulse there, pounding a hundred miles an hour.

"You're _mine_, Cath. No matter how many times you think you've found someone else, remember you're mine, and _I'm yours_."

And somehow, as he pushed off her and walked out, Cath couldn't help thinking that even when he had her backed against a cold, hard wall, there was always something gentle in the way he looked at her.

* * *

Ianto stirred, eventually.

Jack wondered at how long Ianto had managed to keep hurting him before collapsing onto his aching, bleeding body, and wondered yet more at how long Ianto had slept for afterwards.

He enjoyed the sensation of Ianto lying on his chest more than he'd like to let on. He tried to tell himself that it was just happiness at having one of his own back to the fold; that it was just joy at not having to find a new Torchwood member. It wasn't and he knew it. His feelings for Ianto were damn complicated and truth be told they frightened him. The fact that the Welshman was so capable of ripping him to shreds didn't change them, or lessen them at all.

And suddenly Jack was wrenched out of his musings by Ianto pushing himself up and off Jack and backing away so quickly Jack's eyes could barely track him. There was fear in the other man's eyes as he looked at the blood staining the walls and floor, and realized it wasn't his. Jack was expecting him to faint, or something, but Ianto merely backed right up against the wall furthest from Jack, and spoke.

"…you…didn't fight me. You didn't even _try_ to defend yourself."

"No. I didn't."

Ianto slid down the wall with a strange _humph!_ of breath exiting his body. Jack made to move towards him, but Ianto held up a hand.

"Jack…keep your distance, okay? I…don't want to do something I regret."

The double meaning of Ianto's words did not escape Jack, and so he slumped down the wall opposite Ianto and stared at him.

"Ianto. What did they _do_ to you?"

A shrug, "I guess a lot. But I'm alive, aren't I?"

The casual despondency brought a wry smile to Jack's lips, and he laughed easily, folding his arms, "That you are. And I'm glad."

Ianto chose to ignore that statement and focus on the warm laugh and quiet smile; that he could hold onto, could use as a speck of light in all his darkness. He tried desperately not to look at Jack's blood on his hands. Here was a man who had held him through his last moments and died with him. He hadn't stayed dead; then again, neither had Ianto. But Ianto had spent his last breaths thinking of what he could say that would matter, that would count, and he'd spilt his heart – only to hear no real reply.

All he'd wanted were _three little words_, in the end. But clearly Jack couldn't give them to him. He wanted to ask why, but couldn't find any words that didn't make him sound like a twat. Here he was, upset about not hearing 'I love you' when he'd just spent hours upon hours torturing Jack, making him scream in the worst way possible. He could remember the feel of Jack's tense flesh under his nails, the sound of roars ripped from the older man's throat…he shuddered, curled inwards against the wall, clasping his arms around his legs for warmth. He noticed Jack getting up to come and put an arm around him, and stared at him until he halted. Jack looked disbelieving.

"Oh, come _on_ Ianto…It's_ freezing_ in here."

"I'm telling you no. You know I can't."

With a sigh and a gritting of his teeth, Jack sat back down, arms folded and legs outstretched, "Can't what? Can't get close again?"

"Can't trust myself not to hurt you again. I don't know if I've got myself under wraps."

The hairs on the back of Jack's neck stood up at that calm, resigned tone, and the matter-of-fact way Ianto could refer to his torture. A memory of it sparked in his mind, and he winced. The worst part of it was that he hadn't died. Dying he could cope with, but the torture was just pain for hours and hours.

He preferred blackness to the blinding red pain of his memories.

"I meant it, you know. What I said in Thames House. That was what I wanted you to remember about me."

Jack raised an eyebrow, "Sorry, you caught me off guard there. What?"

Ianto sighed, releasing his hold on his legs and letting them stretch out like Jack's.

"I was thinking, while I was lying there looking at you, what I could say to make you remember all of Ianto Jones. What would count the most? I guess the fact that I love you was the thing that stuck, that I thought you would remember. Not the coffee, not the suits, not even Lisa – I didn't want you to remember those. I wanted you to remember _just me_."

Jack inwardly winced. Well, as they had nothing to do here, he may as well express his feelings. His heart leapt at Ianto's precise, measured words, and the cool way he delivered them, and yet his mind was still so damn confused and he just wanted to get all the stuff in it out in the open air.

"I meant to say it back, you know," Jack blurted out. He was met by an eyebrow quirked in the way only Ianto could, and smiled a little, "But I couldn't. Not until I was sure. Not until I'd saved the world for you."

"Look, Jack, I'm not looking for it back – well, yes, I am, because that's what most people want when they confess things like that – but I guess I'm not expecting it from Captain Jack Harkness. You're bloody _superhuman_, aren't you?" Towards the end Ianto began to spit his words out, and his body shook with anger. He clenched his fists and gritted his teeth until it was under control, and said in the smallest whisper, "Sorry."

Jack raised a hand to placate him, but felt himself bristle indignantly at Ianto's words, "So you think I'm not _capable_ of love? That I couldn't love you? Jones, Ianto Jones, I could love you ten times over and that's what I'm scared of! You're so easy for me to love that I have to keep myself in check constantly! My mind is screaming at me not to get attached to people because Torchwood is so dangerous, but I'm in love with you and I'm afraid of you at the same time because you don't even realize the effect you have on me!"

"Jack, I---"

"No, no, let me finish!" He was on his feet, walking towards Ianto, who had gotten to his feet too and backed against the wall, staring at him, "I've lived too damn long to say those three words unless there was no hope! I guess why I didn't tell you, Ianto Jones, was because in the back of my mind, I was still hoping that somehow I'd wake up and you'd have woken up with me. That somehow, you'd be like me for once and survive. When you didn't…it broke my heart. Ianto…I…I lost Stephen. _I killed him to kill the 456_. And now my own daughter won't talk to me. I didn't tell you I loved you because I knew that deep down, I'm not good for you. I'm not good for _anyone_."

And now Jack was choking on his own words, and the tears were falling freely now because he could remember his grandson's face as he died, white and red all over, eyes wide and staring blankly as his spirit fled his body.

But there were strong arms supporting him now, stronger than they'd ever been before, and he could hear a heartbeat thudding just under the skin at the person's chest, and he let himself go, slumping with Ianto down to the floor and wetting Ianto's shirt with his tears. Then a soft voice was whispering in his ear in Welsh, and he could recognize one word, the one word he'd learned in Welsh from the man whose arms were wound around him.

_Cariad._

Jack gasped out, "I…love…you…."

He felt a nod, and clutched at Ianto, solid in his arms, breathing in the marred but familiar scent of home.


	10. GO

_A/N: Back after a lengthy (ish) absence! Thank you all for your reviews, they mean a tonne to me and I'm really sorry for the slow update, I had some trouble getting started. The tone between Jack and Ianto changes, I'm afraid - you know me, I waited for 8 chapters to reunite them, now I've gotta make it hard for them again. (: There's a bit of everyone in this one, even a bit of the Doctor and Amy POV. Plus Cath and Learner get a little um...distracted. I hope you like it, and remember to review. Enjoy!  
_

* * *

"We've gotta get out of here."

It was a pretty obvious statement, but Ianto still agreed. A lot of time had passed in which there had been no talking – Jack had clung to him for a solid while, and somehow (Ianto still wasn't sure _how_) he had then wormed away without him realizing. It was as if Jack had realized who had their arms around him, and surreptitiously moved himself away.

_Still_, Ianto thought. _No use dwelling on it. I did torture him, after all._

"How?" he questioned, and then winced. It wasn't as if Jack would know. The Basement was foreign to him; it was Ianto who knew its secrets. Jack's expression made Ianto roll his eyes.

"Okay, _sure_, stupid question. I know how to get that door open; I just don't know how to do it without the alarms sounding."

Jack exhaled, the air whistling out of his mouth, "Well, I don't know how the alarm system works, and we've got no tools to work with, Ianto."

"Jack, with all due respect, my brain's been altered, as has my entire body. I'm one big tool."

Jack snorted, "Well…"

"Oh, grow up. Besides, Cath and Learner are probably sitting up in the live feed room, listening to everything we're saying. They'll know we're trying to escape…"

* * *

_Some time earlier…_

Learner was distracted.

Here he was, having to keep watch on the star-crossed lovers' relationship traumas, and Cath was happily seated on his lap, scratching her nails lightly across the back of his neck.

It wasn't that he wasn't enjoying it, because he was. More than he should, really. But the job at hand was monitoring Agent Ianto and the Captain, and waiting to see if Ianto came through for the Officials in the end.

But there was something irresistible about the glint in Cath's eyes and her weight on his body and the way those nails were raising goosebumps on his cold skin. He slammed his finger down on a button on the keyboard, closing the feeds. Cath looked up in feigned surprise.

"Learner? We have to keep watch, don't we?"

Ignoring the Rift's persistent presence in his psyche, Learner put up his mental shields and gritted his teeth, scooping Cath into his arms with a pained expression.

"Yes. Yes we do, Cath, but you're pushing all of my buttons today, aren't you?"

Cath smiled and scratched his neck again. Learner's spines bristled, and she smirked.

"You're always on about how I'm _yours_, Learner."

Glancing irritably at the blank screens where the camera feeds should've been, Learner glared at her, standing up with her still in his arms, "I'm not being romantic right now, Cath. Why are you doing this?"

"Well, it's been…about two months since we just fooled around, Learner. Before this whole Ianto Jones business, you were okay with being a bit human. Nowadays it's like you don't want to be anything but Umbreyta. I know, I know, the Umbreyta are naturally stoic and proper, but can't you cut loose for a while? Be a little human?"

Learner fumed silently. Cath stared up at him as he shifted into his human form, his hold on her never wavering.

"Fine, Cath. We'll go and have sex, you happy?"

"I didn't say I wanted your human skin."

Learner shifted back as he stomped away, unaware of the feeds flickering back on, and the coffee-boy-turned-Official staring up into the lense of one of the cameras…

* * *

"It's okay, actually. They're not watching us anymore." Ianto smiled, then blinked hard, shaking his head, "Okay, that hurts."

Jack frowned, "What did you do?"

"Psychic training. The injection boosts your natural proficiency then you get training to allow the Rift in. I haven't learned to block it fully yet, just ignore it. You'd know about that." Ianto gave him a pointed look.

He crossed his arms, "Get out of my head, Ianto. Me and the Rift are old-time buddies, it doesn't mind me ignoring it sometimes. Besides, Gwen and Martha are taking care of it. But what about psychic training did you just do?"

"I just extended my reach. Learner and Cath are um…" The Welshman blushed, "Well, they're attempting to give us a run for our money. _In the innovation department_."

Jack allowed a slow smile to creep to his lips, then a grin, "And failing, I hope?"

He tapped on the iron door and listened to the dull thud it made, "Yeesh, Ianto, you really think you can disable this? Pretty damn solid-sounding." He watched as the younger man gritted his teeth and rolled up his sleeves, squaring up to the door.

"Maybe not disable the door. The deadlock, sure."

He hammered on the door and listened attentively. Jack waited and watched.

Suddenly, Ianto had a satisfied expression on his face, "Oh, right. It's a double cylinder. That'll be a bit more difficult."

He grabbed onto the bars acting as locks and bent them backwards, out of the way, then focused on the small lock Jack could just see. He'd never seen Ianto this strong, and it frightened him. While he was glad Ianto could take care of himself extra well now, there was something about him that screamed _alien_.

There was a strange crunching sound, and Jack blinked. Somehow within that blink, the lock had disappeared, leaving a ragged hole in the metal. Jack held out his hand.

Sheepishly, Ianto placed the whole – intact – lock into Jack's hand. Jack whistled, impressed, "Well, I can't fault a method that gets results. Let's go."

Ianto wrenched the door open, and they set off at a run. Jack followed Ianto closely – his lover seemed to know the Basement like the back of his hand. _Mmm, Ianto's hands._ Shaking his head to clear it of those thoughts, Jack kept running. Ianto smiled as the alarms began to sound, the corridors flashing blood-red in time to the sirens, "Are those thoughts really appropriate when we're running for our lives, Jack?"

"Damn. I forgot the psychic thing. Would you rather I acted on them when we're running for our lives?"

"_Careful_. That's harassment, sir."

Jack laughed freely, then broke off as Ianto skidded to a halt as they ran past an oh-so-familiar room. Despite the name plaque missing from the door, Jack knew what lay behind it. It was the TARDIS landing room, and he could just hear the familiar strains of the TARDIS…well, landing.

"Talk about good timing," Jack breathed, and opened the door as the TARDIS faded into view.

"What…is that thing?" Ianto said, frowning.

"That, my dear Ianto, is freedom."

The door to the TARDIS opened, and Amy Pond popped her head out, looking around frantically. Spotting the pair, she cried, "Come on! Your Officials are coming as we speak!"

Jack grabbed Ianto's hand, and tried not to openly wince at the raised temperature of Ianto's body as he dragged him into the TARDIS, Amy slamming the door shut right behind them. He looked up and saw the new Doctor, and smiled tightly, "Right time, Doctor?"

The Doctor looked up and gave a brief, equally tight smile, "Always, Captain."

And with that, the TARDIS faded into nothingness

just as

Cath _(and Learner, behind)_

THUDDED

into the doorway.

* * *

_Some time earlier…_

Cath lay next to Learner in absolute contentment. Learner had left her with a faint buzzing coldness settling into her bones, and she laughed giddily, not bothering to pull the covers over herself to stop the chill.

"See. Not _so_ bad being human sometimes, is it?"

She trailed a long-nailed hand down his arm, scratching lightly. Learner hissed, exposing his forked tongue.

"No. I suppose not. Can you go another round?"

Cath looked over at him in surprise to see a wicked grin on his face as he stared at her, leaning on one elbow. She smiled, "I suppose it couldn't hurt."

They leant into each other, and the alarm began. "Oh, fuck" was the shared exclamation of both parties as they scrambled into their clothes, and ran into the live feed room. Cath hammered her fist onto the on button until the images flickered back into life and they were face to screen with an empty cell and one busted door.

The pair raced out of the room, Learner shouting, "They'll be escaping – oh, fuck, the Doctor's due today! This is what happens when you make me shut the Rift out and _'be human'_!"

"Me? You're the one who wanted to _'go another round'_!"

They raced down corridors until they could just barely see the forms of Jack and Ianto in the distance, running and then…skidding to a stop. Right outside the TARDIS' room.

"Again, I believe the sentiment is 'oh, fuck'."

They reached the doorway just as the TARDIS left. Cath turned to Learner with a sheepish smile.

"That second round still up for grabs?"

"Oh, _grow up_."

* * *

"I suppose you two will have to stay here for a while. Until the right time, that is. It's still wrong, now…" The Doctor muttered to himself as he piloted the TARDIS. Ianto stood silently with Jack, watching the exchange.

"Funny, Doctor, how will we know it's the right time? You're the only one who seems to be able to distinguish, cause to me, that saving our asses back there totally happened at the right time!" Jack exclaimed, arms folded, hands hidden away. His whole posture screamed discomfort at Ianto's presence, but the coffee-boy didn't budge, choosing to simply stare at him.

_I wonder if he can feel me reading his thoughts,_ Ianto thought briefly. _This is a pretty big invasion of privacy._

"Yes, it is!" Jack was staring at Ianto in exasperation. Ianto met his gaze evenly, and questioned, "Can you blame me?"

The American's eyes softened a tad, "I guess not. Doctor, do you still have my room on board?" He was awarded a curt nod from the Doctor, "Ah, okay. Ianto, if you go through that door, it's –"

"– the one after the Doctor's wardrobe. Got it, sir."

Ianto, truth be told, couldn't wait to get out of there. With the Doctor and Jack in the same room, the stench was overwhelming. The Doctor smelt, predictably, of time – the dusty, aged smell that Jack still had an undertone of – and the sweet, cloying smell of space that had clung to Jack when he'd returned from his last jaunt with the Dcotor, the smell that had confused and frightened him more than he'd admit.

He walked straight past the Doctor's wardrobe, holding his breath. He knew that the smell emanating from that room could knock him out if he breathed it in, and wondered how Jack could handle it. And possibly whether he could have handled it, if he wasn't so different now.

Ianto Jones knew he wasn't the same as before. He could feel every change in his body easily, and found himself simultaneously repulsed and amazed by it. He'd always thought he'd appreciate not having such a flabby stomach, but now that it was gone, he felt…bare. And when Jack looked at him with so much confusion in his eyes, he felt even worse.

He hadn't expected to still want Jack the way he had when he was just mortal. He'd expected everything to be different, and for the bloodlust to be the only thing he felt for the Captain. But as he turned into Jack's room, and smelt those 51st century pheromones lingering on everything, he felt the familiar tingle of attraction in the pit of his stomach.

It was love, for certain. Not love like Lisa – he's not the man he was when he loved her, not so loose with his emotions. He liked to think he held things back, back then, but in hindsight, he'd been _passionate_ about her, _obsessive_ about her, and held things back _because of her_. Holding the passion back meant more time for him to cure her, more time to make her better again. More time at Torchwood, using their resources while the others were out on field missions.

He thinks he must hate Jack, even just a little. It used to be for Lisa's death – _murder_, he absently corrects, but with no feeling behind it – but that was an old grudge, and Jack had long been forgiven. Then it was his secrecy, and his detachment, and his lack of solid proof of any actual feelings towards Ianto – now it was the strange way he was eying him, as if he was an alien.

Ianto lay down on Jack's bed, breathing in the smell and marveling at the tingles that crept across his skin. He didn't think he was alien, not completely. He loved Jack so fully and completely that _he could only be human_.

He lay still in the dark, and waited.

* * *

"Are you still repulsed by my very presence, then?" Jack smiled bitterly, moving to stand in front of the Doctor.

"Jack. I like you as a person – if you technically are a person – but your existence is wrong. You're just wrong."

"I'm what Rose made me, Doctor."

The Doctor blanched, "_Don't_ pull her into this. That doesn't change _anything_."

Jack grimaced apologetically, "No, it doesn't. It doesn't change the fact that it hurts you just to be near me, or that to you I stink."

"Well, not stink. Just…well, yes, stink. But it's a harsh word," the Doctor winced, not realizing that Jack was just marveling at hearing so many words come from the quiet man's mouth.

"You don't talk as much as you used to, Doctor," Jack smiled sadly.

The Doctor nodded, turning back to the TARDIS controls, and muttered to himself, "Maybe that's a good thing…"

Jack idly twiddled his thumbs, leaning against a column, then frowned, "Doctor…Ianto's different. They changed him and that frightens me a whole lot."

The Doctor nodded to himself, listening as he worked. He'd known this was coming, of course. He already knew how these events would unfold – how, of course, was a story for another day. He noted that Amy had made herself scarce, and held back a dry chuckle.

"Jack, I_ did_ tell you you'd get him back. Do you remember the other thing I told you?"

"You mean the part where you said he wouldn't be the same? Yeah, and man, you're not kidding. Have you felt his skin? It's _boiling_."

Rolling back the sleeves of his black velvet blazer (with dark blue shirt and claret bow-tie), the Doctor shook his head, and replied in his quiet voice, "No, I don't tend to take the temperature of people as they enter, Jack."

"Seriously. They juiced him up with alien bits and now I don't know how to identify with him anymore."

With a sigh, the Doctor shifted away from the control panels, and folded his arms, staring Jack down. _The journey isn't over yet, Jack_, he mused. _You'll learn in time_.

"He's still Ianto, Jack. Even if you don't feel like he is, you will soon."

* * *

Amy was always curious, which was perhaps why she had ended up with the Doctor. So when Ianto Jones had left for Jack's room, Amy quietly followed.

The rescue had gone as smoothly as they could've hoped – perhaps they could've stood to land a _little_ quicker, but the TARDIS was unpredictable at best, and the Doctor was hardly talkative about how things should go.

She ducked into the Doctor's wardrobe to check her appearance in the long mirror. She brushed down her baggy purple jumper and pulled at the ragged hem of her skirt to try and make it even. She knew Ianto was notoriously tidy and wanted to make a fairly good impression, even while she was being just plain nosy.

_Not nosy_, she smiled. Just _curious_.

She walked out then leaned against the doorframe of Jack's – and possibly now Ianto's – room. With a smile, she watched Ianto lying still in the dark among Jack's ruffled blankets, then snorted. Ianto's eyes shot open.

"Stressed?"

The Welshman nodded tiredly, "Only always. Come in, I guess."

"I know the feeling. Assistants unite and all."

Amy sat down at the foot of the bed, so as not to force Ianto to get up. He did anyways, and sat next to her, asking, "You ever want to bang your head against a very solid wall?"

"Only always. Although I guess it's easier for me. I'm not in love with the Doctor, after all." She smiled as Ianto coughed awkwardly, then regained his composure, "Well, and here I was hoping it wasn't so obvious."

"Oh, no, it's not. But the way Jack was moping around before we picked him up, I kind of presumed there might be some degree of mutual affection. Does he love you?"

"Apparently so."

"Despite having a funny way of showing it?"

"That's just cause he thinks I'm different. I don't know what to say to change his mind."

Amy thought. Hard. Before the Doctor, she'd not really put a lot of serious thought into things – she supposed he had a philosophical influence on people. Now, however, looking at Ianto Jones' face, and noticing the sadness behind his eyes, she really did.

_Finally._

"You don't need to change his mind. Deep down, he knows you're the same. He just needs you to reassure his mind that it's right."

She looped her arm through Ianto's, "He'll see soon. I promise."

Ianto smiled, and squeezed her hand lightly, "…this may sound strange, but do you want some coffee?"

"Sure. Let me show you to the coffee machine."

Amy smiled widely. _Coffee, the universal language_, she mused, getting up and leaving the room, with Ianto following. She liked Ianto Jones. It was nice to have another normal person around.

_Well, normal compared to an immortal and a Time Lord._


	11. Feeling This

_A/N: Shorter chapter than the last, and the chapter after this is going to be extremely brief. After chapter 12 (which will be titled 'The Fallen Interlude') there will be three chapters left. They'll likely be very long, as I have a plan for the rest of the story but no solid points right now, so they'll make up for the shortness of chapter 12, and then...well, we'll see where I can take this. Possibly just drabbles around this universe, which even I'll admit is turning a little AU. I'll probably follow some prompts, and you guys can tell me whether you'd like some extended as separate oneshots. I dunno, I'm rambling. Anyways, enjoy this - there's some serious angst, and some Learner origins, but not a sad end, I think. Enjoy!  


* * *

They always came to Earth, and now it was his turn._

_The Umbreyta made their homes on a small cluster of asteroids just past Earth, following the orbit of the Earth's moon. Small enough to ignore, at least to the humans, but big enough to be called a home._

_Learner didn't want to leave, originally. His asteroid (N8-106, to be precise) was, despite its barren appearance, home to him, and he'd learned all he thought he needed there. Umbreyta lived on the atmosphere of their planets – food was an unnecessary luxury, though not unappreciated when available, as they only needed nitrogen to live, and Learner could follow the logic his elders did. Earth's atmosphere was predominantly nitrogen. They would be able to be awake for more hours of the day, not need to hibernate during the coldest times of year, and with that high level of nitrogen, essentially they could thrive._

_He did leave, in the end. It wasn't as if he had a choice, anyways. But something went wrong in his teleportation, something went awry – and somehow, he had not ended up in the place that had given the Umbreyta their name. Iceland was a mere plane ride away, but something made Learner stay._

_Maybe it was the idea of just being anonymous for a while and living without others of his species, maybe it was the Welsh air. Actually, forget that, it was definitely the anonymity. The level of pollutants did not matter to Learner – nitrogen was nitrogen, the same everywhere. Universal._

_He spent his nights – as sleep had long deserted him as he adjusted to the atmosphere – learning all about human civilization. Learning languages, history…everything he could get his hands on. Living blissfully during the day, with his non-descript human skin to put on, and working in an office with numerous other disposable colleagues suited him fine, until somehow, the Officials found him._

"_You see, son, we've been keeping an eye on the Umbreyta colonies for a long time. Most of you are in Iceland, some are further north than that – but you. You're alone. Sure, some didn't stay in Iceland, but they never went alone. Why is that, do you think?"_

_The man was tall, broad, and of the kind of appearance one might describe as 'hunky', to use a colloquial human term. It pissed Learner off somewhat that this creature had decided to disrupt his quiet routine with all these questions._

"_I don't know…Maybe it's just to most of us, this isn't a lifestyle change. They do the same as usual just on a different planet with a better atmosphere. They don't want to learn."_

"_Funny. Why didn't that suit you?"_

_Learner did not get a chance to reply. The man suddenly had a hand on the small of his back and his sharp blue eyes were boring into Learner's own muddy brown ones and he somehow couldn't look away._

"_You can hear her, can't you? That presence in your mind?"_

_Admittedly, yes. He hadn't thought it was a female – the persistent prodding at his psyche seemed to just be an energy form to him._

"_She's chosen you, Learner. Don't back down."_

Learner jolted awake, suddenly boiling hot all over. Uncomfortably so. Where humans woke up in cold sweats, being naturally warm, Learner woke up hot, being naturally cold.

He sighed, running his hands down his skin, waiting to cool down. Glancing to his left, he watched Cath's chest rise and fall with her breathing, and marveled at her warm, soft presence at his side.

God only knew why the Rift had picked him all those years ago. Maybe then it was reason enough to stay in Wales, but now – he hated to admit it, sitting staring at his crazy/beautiful…_whatever_ Cath was to him, but nowadays…

He trailed a hand absently down her face, cupping her cheek briefly before getting up. Before, humans had been a mere addition to his life, neither good, nor bad. But after seeing their great moments and their worst regrets…

He strolled across the corridor and into the feed room, surveying the screens with a weary glance. Soon they'd find Ianto Jones. Soon he'd be a true Official, once he saw what it could give him.

Learner smiled. Sometimes, it felt like these humans were really what he had been looking for.

* * *

The Doctor and Amy were playing chess.

It was a game Amy knew she couldn't win, and one that the Doctor knew she knew she couldn't win, but they played regardless, and with every day Amy improved, and the game lasted a little longer.

It was startling to him how perceptive humans could be, even after so many years of interacting with them and helping them. Especially, however, in the case of Jack and Ianto.

"Do you suppose Jack really loves him, Doctor?"

"Hm?" The Doctor looked up at his companion from his study of the chessboard and its pieces. His brow furrowed, and his ran a knuckle across his lips in a pensive gesture, "Well, it's not inconceivable; though, I don't feel qualified to pass judgment. Why?"

"I don't know. I just worry they'll end up hurting each other." The girl was chewing on her lower lip in what the Doctor interpreted as anxiety. His gaze softened.

"He was…_different_, when we picked him up. He's lost team members before, but he was different this time. If that helps."

Amy offered him a small smile, though her eyes betrayed her worry, "Well, you are considerably more eagle-eyed than me. I don't know him at all well, but it felt like there was something…off, between them."

The Doctor wrinkled his nose, saying quietly, "Yes. I felt that too," he moved his rook forward two spaces, "and check."

"You're certain it will work out, Doctor?" Amy swiftly moved her queen out to capture the Doctor's rook, and smiled, "Check to you too."

"Mmm, it should. Although, my old self was extremely unhelpful. He left very few details," The Doctor muttered from behind his hand, then his eyes wrinkled in a smile. He captured Amy's queen, and placed his bishop down carefully by her king, "Checkmate."

Amy's jaw dropped, though not at the familiar sight of losing to the Timelord, "That weird guy was _you_? The tall, skinny guy in the brown suit I saw you talking to in that market on Barcelona?"

"One and the same. The blonde you saw with him was Rose," the Doctor admitted, the sad look creeping into his eyes as he remembered Rose Tyler, "and I couldn't speak with him for long. As I would say, '_timey-wimey_' problems. He gave me the pick-up and deposit points, no more, no less."

He got up, clearly brooding. Amy sighed, recognizing that she would get no more out of the Doctor. Muttering a 'thanks' and a 'good game', she went to bed.

The Timelord ran a hand through his unruly dark hair and sighed, then followed suit.

* * *

_I really miss the Archives_, Ianto suddenly thought.

He was sitting on the edge of Jack's bed, with Jack beside him, and this awkward silence was making him crazy. Honestly, what he wanted right now to soothe his nerves was some nice paperwork or filing to do – a mundane activity, admittedly, but his job at Torchwood had technically been an archivist. It wouldn't be great if he didn't enjoy it.

Jack seemed on edge, so Ianto didn't push further. Clearly something in his discussion with the Doctor had rattled him – and Ianto's instincts told him it wasn't about paperwork.

Funny how his hormones always choice the most inopportune moments to kick in. He could feel the blood pulsing under his skin, and he longed to close the chasm of distance between Jack and himself.

As if sensing his mood, Jack looked at Ianto hollowly, "_Don't._"

"Come on Jack, I'm still me."

Jack shook his head a fraction, "Ianto, you know I can't."

Something in Jack's tone and the way he was using Ianto's words against him made him bristle with indignation, "You've no right to do that to me, Jack. That isn't fair."

"Fair, Ianto? Where was 'fair' when you tortured me?"

The blood drained from Ianto's skin, and his pressed his lips so tightly together he was sure they'd disappeared. He was cold all over in an instant. Suddenly, it was all he could do not to jump on Jack there and then – and not in the way he'd originally wanted to.

Clenching his fists, Ianto stood, staring white-lipped with fury at the Captain, "How dare you. You _know_ that wasn't me. You know _they did that to me_."

The words were so quiet they were barely audible, but Ianto caught them as they slipped from his lover's lips.

"I don't know what 'you' is anymore."

Ianto shook with anger and hurt and crouched in front of Jack, meeting his gaze squarely, and barking out some semblance of bitter laughter, "Well, Jack, that makes two of us. I have no fucking idea what's happening to me, I'm scared witless and you choose now to rip me apart? How bloody kind of you."

The American snorted, equally as bitterly, "Ianto, I don't know what you want me to say."

"Say you love me. Say you came back for me. Say something that doesn't make everything hurt."

Maybe it was something in Ianto's broken tone that caused it – he didn't know. But all of a sudden, Jack was kissing him, and his hands were working on the buttons of Jack's shirt extra-carefully so as not to damage it, and Jack was curling his hands into Ianto's hair.

Ianto pulled away, eyes pained, "Jack."

"Ianto?"

Ianto gulped in a breath, and pressed his forehead to Jack's, "Jack, will you just shag me? Right now, it's not about emotions. Right now, it's about proof."

Jack drew his lips back to Ianto's, and the Welshman dimly thought, _'Huh, the Archives weren't that great anyways…'

* * *

_

_Some time later…_

Jack pressed a kiss to Ianto's collarbone, hands loosely looped around his wrists, before he rolled off of him, to the side, and sighed.

"Ianto…I didn't mean---"

"---Jack. It's fine."

Ianto's voice – particularly the strange, contented sound to it – made Jack turn his head to look at the younger man. Ianto looked into his eyes, and Jack saw no remnants of the previous pain Jack had caused him.

"Your thoughts gave you away."

This warranted an eyebrow raise, and Jack questioned, "You read my thoughts? How could you concentrate?" He grinned wickedly. Ianto rolled his eyes and punched him lightly –_ well, especially lightly _– on the arm.

"No, Jack, your reputation is intact. I didn't read them – you were thinking so loudly I couldn't help but hear."

The Welshman got up and moved to put his carefully discarded – _draped over a nearby chair_ – clothes back on. Jack admired the view for a moment, then questioned, "What was I thinking?"

Ianto smiled, back in his clothes so quickly Jack could have sworn he'd blinked and missed it. He was awarded a kiss from the archivist, gentle and brief, and then –

"You kept saying, 'He's still the same'. I don't know in what context you meant it, but in my context, it means more than you know."

Ianto rose, and Jack propped himself up on his elbow to stare at him, "I know in what context I meant it. And I can tell you that it means just the same in mine as in yours. I may not understand it, what they did to you – and what that means for Torchwood, when you're back – but I understand _you_. I wouldn't go so far as to say your soul – although," Jack paused, looking as Ianto's gaze softened, "I could maybe go that far – but I understand something behind the body and the complexities and all of that."

Ianto smiled. Not a big smile, not a snarl like the horrific day when he'd tortured Jack – just a small, not-even-full smile. And just once, Jack didn't reply with a Jack Harkness Grin – just a small, not-even-full smile.

Ianto climbed back onto the bed, and slung an arm around Jack's shoulders. Jack moved closer. _Maybe, when they got back to Earth and Torchwood, maybe they could get back to normal._

_Well,_ Jack smiled, as he closed his eyes. _If this isn't proof, I don't know what is._


	12. The Fallen Interlude

_A/N: Short one this time, more of an interlude. You know me, I can't just give you a happy ending right away. (: How I'm going to wrap this up in 3 chapters I dunno - however soon I'll have more time on my hands because of exams so they'll be three long chapters, I think. Anyways, enjoy as best you can!  
_

* * *

Somehow when Jack asked him, "What was I thinking?" something inside Ianto snapped.

He showed no trace of it in his face, and controlled the sudden shake in his hands while he buttoned his shirt, but something was broken and he was damned if he knew how to fix it. The double-meaning of Jack's words might not have been intentional, but Ianto felt that there might have been an instance of a Freudian slip somewhere.

So he pressed a kiss to Jack's temple after the older man had fallen asleep, and now, somehow, that simple contact – which would usually erase any dark thoughts Ianto harboured – wasn't enough to heal him.

As he left the room, dapper in his suit once more, hair smoothed, clean, he spotted the Doctor seated at the TARDIS controls.

"Ianto."

"Doctor."

The Doctor's tone was accusatory, and Ianto's lips furled back into a smile which was more like a grimace. The Timelord's expression darkened.

Just by looking at the archivist, the Doctor could tell that something had gone wrong. _Stay calm,_ he advised himself. _You warned yourself this would happen at some point._

"Ianto, don't do this."

This brought a wry and bitter laugh to Ianto's lips as he cracked his knuckles, "Do what, pray tell?"

"Whatever it is you're thinking, don't do it. You don't need to go back to them."

Ianto snorted, staring despondently back at the Doctor. The young man's dark hair was a bird's nest next to Ianto's casually coiffed style. Despite his flyaway appearance, the Doctor's gaze had a fierce magnetism to it, and Ianto found it hard to look away.

He lowered his eyes, but could still feel the other's eyes on him. Something about the way he looked at him made Ianto fearful.

"I'm a monster, you know. Really, this time. I could kill you so easily."

The Doctor observed the Welshman with a cursive look, and decided that despite the botched delivery of the words, directed at his feet, he had a point. There was something wrong with Ianto Jones that he didn't think he could repair.

"You can't leave without the TARDIS landing somewhere, Jones. She won't just stop."

Ianto grinned wolfishly, and the Doctor's spirits sunk.

_Take me to the Basement again_, Ianto commanded in his mind.

The TARDIS gave what felt like a nod._ Good girl_, he thought approvingly.

The landing siren blared into action and the Doctor stared at Ianto's cruel smirk in disbelief. Not many had the power to speak to his TARDIS – maybe Ianto really was made to be an Official, after all.

"Goodbye, Doctor. Blow Jack a kiss for me."

The suited young man buttoned up his jacket and flung open the TARDIS' door. With a harsh laugh, Ianto Jones stepped from his old life with Torchwood

_to his new life_

with the Officials.


	13. Obvious

_A/N: Yes, I'm cruel. But here is another chapter for you, and I promise it'll get nice again soon. (: Enjoy.  
_

* * *

Dawn broke.

The Doctor knew, of course. And by extension, Amy knew.

Time passed differently in the TARDIS, so of course, Jack didn't know.

But his body did. The immortal yawned and stretched, blossoming out of sleep into consciousness and finding no one at his side, and no trace of warmth on the bed.

Stumbling out of the room, pulling on clothes as he went, Jack acknowledged a cold feeling growing in his gut, but shrugged it off as regular worry.

But slamming into the control room, and seeing the drawn, darkened _(by sadness? Anger?)_ expressions on the Doctor and his companion's face…

…Jack knew.

And Jack broke too.

* * *

The return was expected, obviously. For all their dalliances, Learner and Catharine were organized this time, and it happened to be Learner who was watching the feeds when the TARDIS faded into existence.

He watched as the blue box appeared in their room, even fancied he could hear it from just down the hall, and he watched as the tall Welshman, suited and booted, stepped out, laughing.

Learner laughed too, and turned on his comm, "Cath."

"Learner?"

"We've got him back."

He got up quickly, hardly daring to look away from the feeds as he left the room at a swift walk, meeting Cath halfway up the corridor. She squeezed his hand in hers, "You were right."

Learner nodded – and yet, looking at Cath's expression that he was sure matched his own, he wished he had been wrong.

* * *

A while ago, back at the beginning of her life with the Doctor, he had told her something.

His expression was serious (_though when was it ever not, nowadays?_) and he could hardly bear to look at her, so chose to tell her while they were frantically working the controls on a journey.

He didn't even raise his voice over the racket, but Amy caught every word.

The Doctor had told her that often, the worst things she would see wouldn't be aliens, wouldn't be other planets, wouldn't be wars and wouldn't be governments.

Often, the worst things would be humans and Earth and emotions and cruelty.

Standing with the Doctor in that room, knowing what she knew about life and Jack and Ianto, it was all Amy could do not to cry as she watched one of the Doctor's ex-companions crumple before her eyes.

She managed not to cry then.

But moving to hold Jack carefully, to listen to his hyperventilating and know that he wasn't crying, to smooth soothing circles into his broad back, she cried then.

Because the Doctor had been right again, and she wondered how many times this had happened.  


* * *

Jack's attitude changed swiftly, in the grand scheme of things, the Doctor noted as he watched him pace, occasionally swearing and kicking the scenery in frustration. Amy stood to one side, wringing her hands anxiously and following the older man with her eyes.

Jack turned his gaze to the Doctor, and it took a lot to keep a neutral mask on when he caught the expression on Jack's face. He had never honestly seen Jack look this tortured before. The image burned into the Timelord's retinas, and every time he blinked it was there.

_Blink._

"Doctor."

_Blink._

"Take me back to him."

"It's not the right time."

"Make it the right time."

_Blink._

The Doctor groaned in frustration, running his hands through his dark hair, "Jack, how do I make you understand this?"

"You can't."

_Blink._

Amy piped up, "Doctor…I think I have a way we can work this."

He looked up at her, and gave a tiny quirk of the lips which might have qualified as a smile. She couldn't be sure.

"One moment, Jack."

He led Amy to the other side of the control room, into the shadows. The Timelord heard Jack sit down loudly with a curse, and shuddered as he blinked again.

"Doctor. Why don't we take him back to – oh. You've got that face on. You know, don't you?"

"That, Miss Pond, is why you're here. That is inspired."

The pair walked back to Jack, who looked up at them with a morose expression. _Blink._

"Okay, Jack. I'll make the time right."

* * *

As the TARDIS churned and threw itself through space and time, Jack clung by his hands to a railing grimly, expression dead.

It was hopeless, inconceivable, infeasible, unimaginable and just _too much._

It was impossible for him to comprehend. The pain he felt could not be described, and honestly there was no time more than now where he had wished himself dead permanently.

He – _the name was too hard to say_ – had gone back. Left. He had reverted to that monster again, and returned to the people who had made him that way. He was the best of them – Torchwood, Wales, Britain, Earth. Brilliant, wonderful, somehow sneaking into Jack's life and making it his, too.

It still was. His, that is. Jack didn't think his life would have ever stopped belonging to the young man, even if Ianto had stayed dead and Jack had left like he'd planned.

And yet Jack couldn't help thinking that maybe this, this pain, this was what he deserved.

* * *

He could see Jack standing in the corner of the room while Learner and Cath gave him a check up.

He didn't move, didn't speak. Just stood, hands thrust deep into his pockets, staring at Ianto relentlessly.

Ianto stared back, of course. He had no idea how Jack had gotten into the Basement, but he didn't care. Just as soon as the check-up was finished, he'd get up and _kill him._

He'd gotten through the strength test and the reflexes test, but felt strange, and didn't like it. He wasn't quite up to par, so to speak.

While he was better than normal humans, he wasn't inhuman either.

They were apparently going to do a CAT scan, and Ianto's brow furrowed as he glared at Jack. He blamed him for his weakness, and let a small growl escape his lips. Cath turned to look at the corner in which Jack stood.

"What're you looking at, Ianto?"

Here, Jack grinned dazzlingly. The action made Ianto clench his fists at the older man, the physical representation of all of Ianto's past weaknesses.

"Nothing."

He lay back, barely breaking eye contact with Jack, and tried to ignore the throbbing ache in his head as he was brought into the scanner.

"We'll need to check you asleep, too. After this one, we'll just pipe some anaesthetic in and you can go nicely to sleep, okay, cariad?"

Ianto nodded, drawing in deep, calming breaths.

_He'll die, soon.

* * *

_

They arrived with a shudder, and Jack looked up as the last strains of the TARDIS' landing siren faded.

"Well, Jack. It's time."

Jack took this to mean, 'Well, Jack. You can piss off now', and so grabbed his coat and headed out, with a small salute.

Shutting the door behind him, he came face to face with one Gwen Cooper-Williams.

"Jack?"

Sometimes Jack didn't like how Gwen could read him like a book. Right now, however, it was welcome, and he sighed.

"Yeah."

Her entire face embodied sympathy. Jack ran a hand over his wayward hair, brow crinkled in worry and despair.

"Oh, Jack."

And as Gwen folded him into her arms, it was all Jack could do not to stay there forever.

* * *

"I can't explain it, Learner. I ran him through the heavy machinery and it all comes up the same."

"Cath, I respect you both as an Official, and my partner, but there must be some mistake. He fixed himself last time, so how do you expect me to believe he's just…well, reverted?"

The pair watched Ianto from behind the one-way mirror. He was asleep in one of the containment units for Officials undergoing therapy. For what, Cath didn't know. Learner almost certainly did, but she'd never built up the courage to ask him.

She could remember her own time in there, though. That would never go away.

_As soon as the plunger on the injection went down, there was pain._

_She screamed unashamedly and clutched at the alien's cool, soft hand desperately. On three, the group lifted her from the table and carried her through endless corridors. She hadn't realized how many people were here – there were at least 10 of them, all carrying her along until they reached a door._

_One – a tall, brooding type with dark eyebrows – held her up with one arm while he opened the door. She was surprised they could keep ahold of her; she was trapped in her own head, watching helplessly as her body writhed in agony._

_They carried her through into the room, and placed her ever-so-softly onto a huge bed. The alien smoothed her red hair back from her forehead, and pressed a cold kiss to it._

"_I'll stay with her. The rest of you are dismissed."_

_He did stay with her. She blacked out several times, but whenever she was conscious, he was there, soothing the fierce heat with his hands and water that he always seemed to have access to._

_The process usually took a few days. That was the average, she found out later._

_They let her fever rage for a week and a half._

_The last day was different. She had blacked out the day before, and instead of waking up in a couple of hours, she slept through what felt like the night. Waking up the next day, there was no pain at all, only strength._

_She rose, looking at Learner with new eyes. Suddenly he was in brilliant focus, and she could see the facets of his skin, glinting in the low light._

_She studied the room critically, marveling at the smoothness of the cotton sheets under her hands. There was the wide mirror that spanned the length of one of the walls – only now she realized it wasn't a mirror at all._

_Eying it, she smiled, seeing the people who had carried her watching expectantly behind the glass. She waved, grinning, feral._

"_How do you feel?"_

She found out later what they had done, what the Rift had wanted. The nanogenes had replaced her entire body with new material, stronger, less human and breakable. Cath could not be considered human.

She wrapped her arms around herself, shuddering as she felt her solidness. She did miss being soft and warm, sometimes.

"He's got high altitude cerebral edema. It's caused the excess fluid to press down on the tumor the injection gave him, which made him into the perfect Official. Thanks to travelling in the TARDIS, I guess it replicated the conditions one would need to get HACE. Thus, Ianto reverts. End of."

"Is there anything we need to watch out for?"

"Dizziness, loss of coordination, hallucinations, irrational behaviour. Although I guess we can use that last one to our advantage."

Cath looked back at Ianto, and the steady rise and fall of his chest as he slept, trying to ignore the hopeful look on Learner's face.

* * *

Spending time with a fairly pregnant Gwen Cooper-Williams and her husband was almost like being normal. The warm smell of their living room brought back memories of the warm smell of Ianto's flat, and he swallowed thickly.

"He went back?"

"Yep. I need to get him back to normal or…"

The last two Torchwood operatives stared at the floor, inwardly wincing at the thought of the alternative. They both knew what the protocol was for an out-of-control operative.

Suddenly the room seemed too warm, and Jack wiped his brow haphazardly, "Gimme a second, Gwen. I'm gonna go get some air."

He swiftly left, and stepped outside of Gwen's building, breathing deeply. The sun had long set, and the pleasant smell of the night had settled over Cardiff, and clung to his skin. It was times like these that he could almost believe things would be okay.

Then cold hands closed around his throat, and he knew they wouldn't be.

"Do it now!" a female voice shouted, in a whisper.

Whoever was holding him was apparently having trouble, and the cold hands were replaced with scolding hot ones.

"I'll do it, then."

Jack had anticipated a broken neck, and was surprised when, at the moment when he expected darkness, a syringe was plunged into his neck, and he began to fade out.

As he blacked out, he could hear a whispered argument going on, and fancied he could hear the soft drawl of a Welsh accent.


	14. I'm Lost Without You

_A/N: Ugh, mocks at school have been keeping me too busy. I'm sorry this has taken so long. Hopefully you'll enjoy this, I dunno. I'd like to get to about 60 reviews before this ends, so all of you who have been reading but not reviewing, please do let me know what you've thought of the story thus far. I'm afraid this is the second-to-last chapter, and the last one where anything dreadfully significant happens. Anyways, enough of me. Enjoy.  
_

* * *

The sedative didn't keep Jack under for long. Ianto wrinkled his nose as he heard the immortal stirring in the back of the van. His headache wasn't subsiding any and taking care of a semi-violent Torchwood operative while his reflexes weren't 100% was really beginning to irritate him.

He clenched the steering wheel of the van until his knuckles turned white, "Would you sedate him again, Learner? I'm really not in the mood."

A drawled, incoherent comeback came from Jack – if Ianto had been in a better mood, he might've even played along. Instead, the young man rubbed his eyes tiredly, "Tell me again what the Rift said."

From the passenger side, Cath glanced from under her lashes at Ianto, and smiled, "Just that we should convert him too. Apparently he's at the right place to be an Official, too. Wouldn't that be lovely, cariad?"

Closing his eyes briefly – the road was so straight that even in his weakened state, there was little risk of the van straying – Ianto nodded, longing for sleep, "Sure. Lovely."

He glanced into the rear view mirror, and his gaze met with Jack's, which was startlingly clear for someone being sedated. He tried to look away, but found he couldn't. Then Jack blinked, and Ianto tore his eyes away, trying desperately to ignore the faint stirrings of something in his heart.

* * *

The Rift sometimes shouted, and sometimes whispered. Sometimes her comments were to specific people, and sometimes the general psychic populace.

Today was one of those days where she felt pretty smug. Well, as smug as a huge expanse of time-space energy could feel.

She had plans for Jack Harkness, from the very beginning – although, the beginning implied a linear format, and the Rift couldn't agree with that. By beginning, she meant the 51st century, where Jack was formally born.

After that, Jack's timeline had leapt all over the place, and then just stopped. Jack just stopped obeying time and space. At least now he was easy to keep track of – being a fixed point and all.

Usually, she couldn't condone lies, but talking to her sister – or possibly cousin – she knew that was what was necessary. Learner and Cath would not – could not – understand Jack Harkness of Boeshane's future.

Because Jack Harkness had a whole lot of growing up to do, and not a lot of time to do it.

Where had she gone so far wrong that Jack – an allegedly 'specialist' force against aliens – had gone and shot at that bulletproof tank?_ Ianto Jones' death was not meant to happen then._ The Officials had hungered for Ianto for years, and only after he grew too old – over 30, perhaps, maybe over 35, breaking the myth surrounding Torchwood ops – was she going to leave him to his own devices.

Picking him for the Officials had been difficult, but it was the only way to save him.

And now she could only count on Jack again. While whispering to Learner and Catherine, she shouted at the captain, and kept a stony silence when it came to Ianto Jones.

The Rift waited, and watched.

* * *

Sedatives didn't work, as a general rule.

He didn't know whether it was the immortality, or the fact that 21st century sedatives were redundant for a 51st century man, or some amalgamation of the two, but either way, he was stuck in the back of a van driven by Ianto – _oh, sorry, insane brain tumor Ianto_ – and the Rift was practically screaming at him to save Ianto.

One problem – saving Ianto would mean saving Ianto…from Ianto. This version of Ianto was new to him, foreign. It was almost like when Ianto first started work at Torchwood – the quietness, at least. He wasn't sure if that Ianto had had homicidal tendencies. Hopefully not.

That fleeting moment where he met the gaze of Ianto's flint-grey eyes made it feel like maybe there was hope.

He resisted the urge to sigh, keeping up the façade of being unconscious, though he knew Ianto didn't believe him. Always was quick on the uptake.

Suddenly, the van shuddered to a halt, and the woman – Agent Catharine, Jack remembered – asked worriedly, "Ianto, what's wrong?" He heard her shift, and dared to open his eyes slightly. She was leaning towards the Welshman anxiously, one hand steadying his back. He could hear Ianto's ragged breathing from where he lay. He glanced back at Learner, to find he'd gotten out via the back and was at Ianto's window, expression drawn.

He watched Learner and Cath exchange a measured look, and immediately knew something was wrong.

"Okay, kids, clearly something's wrong. You might want to put him back here and get another driver."

The disbelief on the Officials' faces was enough to make Jack snort, "Yes, I've been playing possum. You should've just broken my neck like Ianto said, it would take me longer to recover." Jack slid himself upright, and peered round at Ianto. The Welshman was fading into unconsciousness, clutching his head in agony – Jack felt a frown settle onto his face.

Quickly he got up and helped the Officials to move Ianto round to the back, a temporary alliance over a mutual interest. Jack climbed in next to Ianto, shutting the back doors, as Learner slid into the driver's seat and continued driving.

Jack trailed a hand down Ianto's still cheek, and was surprised when beautiful grey eyes snapped open, then softened at meeting his gaze.

"Jack…"

There was something agonizingly familiar about this situation. The last time he'd held Ianto in his arms like this was the last time he'd died.

_Not again._

"Ianto," Jack smiled, surprised as tears sprang to his eyes.

He reached out with shaking fingers to run a hand over Ianto's scalp, and watched as the younger man sighed.

"Jack…I'm sorry."

"I know. Me too."

They reached the Basement in what felt like the smallest amount of time measurable.

Jack spent the entire journey watching Ianto, who had fallen into unconsciousness in his arms. _He isn't heavy_, thought Jack. _He's light as air to me._

He didn't let Learner or Cath touch him. When they tried to help him carry Ianto, the look on Jack's face shut them up.

Cath shared an anxious glance with Learner as they directed the captain to the operating theatre. They linked hands briefly, and Learner savoured the trail of warmth she left on his cold hands.

"You have to act now. You need to perform surgery on him, or he'll die."

Learner stepped forward at this, "I can do it. It's my fault, anyways."

Jack eyed the alien critically. The guilt in his face was evident, his posture slumped and spines lowered. The immortal gave a brief nod, "Do it now. Agent Catharine, with me."

The pair left the room while Learner prepped for surgery.

"I've not loved anyone this way for a long time, you know," Jack said, offhandedly, and Cath looked at him inquisitively. Jack continued, "If I lose him again, because of your carelessness, you know what you'll be dealing with. You know how long I've lived, you know what I've seen."

Cath nodded slowly, and said in a low voice, "I know. Let me show you something."

She led him to the dark room next to the bright white room he'd spent an eternity trapped in, and his mouth fell open.

The heavy machinery stood at at least 15 feet, dominating the room. It looked like a huge hard drive with no cover, so all of its components were exposed to the chill of the room – the parts stuck out, skeletal. Connected to it was a huge screen with lines of code scrolling down it, placed on a reinforced steel desk with a wheelie chair next to it. Cath walked calmly to the chair and sat down. Jack numbly followed.

"When we brought him back, we created back-up files of everything. His body state, his brain state, the state of all of his vital organs –"

"– wait. How did you do that? This technology shouldn't be here…"

"It's like you always say, Captain. The 21st century is when everything changes. This right here," she patted the immense screen, "is the first of many of these machines. Sure, they get smaller, but we built this baby about ten years ago. Makes the whole re-animation process easier."

Jack nodded slowly, still shocked. Cath went on.

"So basically, here I have everything that makes up Ianto Jones. I wanted to show you his mind, when we downloaded it. This basically goes in order of what he thought of first."

Before Jack could object, she pressed enter, and he couldn't look away.

The images moved quickly, but he caught every one.

The first memory he laughed at – trust Ianto to think of _that_ at first. Then it went through to what must be Ianto's view Thames House, and endless other memories that seemed to be about him.

Cath sat quietly, and watched the captain relive old memories, laughing while a single tear trailed silver down his cheek.

* * *

Learner had shifted back to his human form for the operation. It looked like it would have to be an emergency procedure – Ianto's brain tissue was too swollen to be able to treat with a hypobaric bag and dexamethasone. The tumor would need to be removed for safety, because Ianto had already slipped into a coma.

Learner sighed, looking down at Ianto. The young man's face was relaxed in unconsciousness, despite the screen set up around his head.

The alien had never had this much trouble with an Official before. It seemed Ianto Jones would be no use to them after this, after all. Learner feared for the future of the Basement if the Welshman did not recover.

They could not reverse what they had done to Ianto's body. He'd left the nanogenes in for too long – Ianto's body was completely altered, and would remain that way for the rest of his life. Essentially, he was going to live forever, if he wasn't killed. For Ianto, death would not come easily – he could heal from most mortal wounds. Only something as violent as decapitation – Learner shuddered in spite of himself at the idea – would permanently do him away.

He wondered idly if that was a good thing.

Looking down at him, Learner sighed again. He worried for the young man and he worried that maybe this time, they'd let things get away from themselves. Maybe this time they should've just backed off.

Waking from his reverie, Learner shook himself, and started the operation.

* * *

Waiting for Ianto's operation to end felt like forever.

He stood outside the theatre, pacing so much he thought he'd wear a path into the sparkly-clean linoleum. This wasn't like anything else he'd dealt with.

Not like waiting for Estelle to leave him.

Not like watching Tosh pass away.

Not like never finding Owen.

This was different. This wasn't so certain – this was fragile, holding the moment in his hands like paper-thin glass, making sure nothing would break.

After an eternity – maybe a couple of hours, maybe the lifespan of several stars – Learner came out of the operation room, dusting his hands and sighing exhaustedly.

"Well?" Jack questioned.

"Best we can hope for. Did an emergency decompression, and sorted out the tumour best I could, but –"

"When can I see him?"

Learner wordlessly gestured to the door from whence he'd exited, and slumped down the wall, spent. Jack could see Cath just leaving a room down the hall to take him to bed.

He took a deep breath, and went in.

* * *

He was trapped inside his own head again.

It was not essentially a bad thing – he felt warm, safe and sheltered – but there was this irritating little nagging feeling in the back of his mind that told him he could slip away at any moment.

It was terrifying. He was alone.

Then, footsteps. Slow, measured footsteps – Ianto guessed the person was either taking in the room, old or taking in the sight of him lying there in the hospital-style bed.

As it turned out, all three. As the person came closer, he could smell the familiar scent of Jack's 51st century pheromones, and his chest felt all at once warmer and compressed in anguish. Ianto listened to the scrape of Jack's chair across linoleum floors, and the small, tired sound the chair made when Jack sat down.

There was light pressure on his left hand – he guessed Jack was holding it, though he couldn't distinguish feelings yet. In spite of himself, he wanted to smile, or even just open his eyes, though he knew he couldn't.

"I…don't know if you can hear me, Ianto, but apparently it helps to talk to comatose people. You did it for me, after all."

_Bastard. So he had heard…_

"Yeah, I know, you didn't want me repeat anything you said, but I can't help myself. You know me – I'm a big talker. So don't get mad, okay?"

_Fine. God, you absolute wanker. I love you._

"Okay, I can tell you're mad. But listen. I screwed up. Big time. All that week, with the 456" _Ianto flinched inwardly_ "and UNIT and the government. Bringing you in there with it, all of that – I was rash. Completely. And if I'd known" _here Jack took a shuddering breath, and Ianto guessed he was crying_ "If I'd known then what would happen, what that one stupid bluff would have caused, I'd have left you outside somehow."

Ianto's heart clenched in sadness. He wanted desperately to get up and shake Jack, to tell him that he was just doing his job, it was unique circumstances, anything to stop him from blaming himself.

He wanted to talk to Jack about dying and how sad it was to slip away.

"You'd probably be telling me to fuck off round about now, then asking me if I wanted coffee. Or sex. Right now, both, but that's not the point. That's not the main thing. I want you back, with Torchwood, with us. With _me_."

_And I want to be back. God knows you lot couldn't keep even a new Hub functioning and tidy without me._ Reflexively, Ianto felt his hand squeeze Jack's, and heard Jack gasp.

"Ianto? God, I hope that's a good sign. Stay with me, Ianto, stay with me, _please_."

The quiet desperation in Jack's voice had a feeling of coming full circle – he could recall exactly when Jack had used those words, and the warmth in his body grew. He squeezed again, of his own accord, and felt his eyelids flutter.

"God, I'd always come back for you. _Always,_" Jack murmured.

There was a warm hand on his face, smoothing across his cheek, avoiding his head.

"Can you hear me?"

All at once, Ianto

opened

his

eyes.

"I can hear you," he said.


	15. Epilogue: Always

_A/N: Here it is, the last one. I want to dedicate this fic to everyone who has read or reviewed this, in any capacity, anonymously or not. (: I'd love to get up to 100 reviews on this, so please do take the time to review it, be you an anonymous reviewer or a registered user. It would really mean a lot to hear from you. Anyways, thank you to everyone, and I hope you enjoy the epilogue.  
_

* * *

So after the operation Ianto had to stay for a few days while the staples and stitches set in, and Jack stayed too. He couldn't have left, anyways, but while he was there he had to speak with the Officials and sort out the whole mess that this endeavor had turned into.

Apparently Ianto was no use to them now – the mental changes they'd given to Ianto had completely reversed themselves, and his brain was now back to exactly how it had been when they'd received him. Jack smiled at this – he was still brilliant, but obviously having no homicidal tendencies was not an Official trait.

Ianto had interjected here, from his wheelchair, _"But what about the Basement and Torchwood? How do we keep up to date with each other? Surely after the whole 456 thing we need to liaise –"_

"– _yes," Learner interrupted, "Your job. You know the ins and outs of the Basement – we can't just let you go into the world with all that, without some kind of practical application."_

"_So, what? I'm Torchwood-Basement Liaison?"_

It seemed to suit him just fine, an invisible title. To the outside world, he'd be an archivist (and tourist information manager), to Torchwood an operative, and to the Basement part-time Official.

That part was hard for him to agree to.

"_We do reserve the right to call you into action, if times are desperate. We're monitoring several potential Officials right now, some of whom we may take while alive, but we may need extra hands," Cath said, face a perfect mask of calm._

"_Hey, whoa! He's in no shape to do that for you, and even if you needed him, what right do you have?" Jack blurted out, furious, before Ianto held up a hand._

"_I'm fine with that, but I want at least a day's notice unless it's an absolute emergency. Torchwood is my first priority." Here he had looked at Jack pointedly – it gave him a strange sensation of being looked through._

Always businesslike, was Ianto. Jack couldn't help but admire the quiet precision with which he ordered the Officials about. The last condition was Ianto's; and one that Jack couldn't understand.

"_I want the documents about what you did to me. The injection, the resuscitation, all of it," Ianto narrowed his eyes at the pair of Officials, watching their expressions turn to confusion._

_Learner was the first to question, "Why? I mean, I'm not averse to giving you a hard copy of them, but no Official has ever wanted to see them."_

_Ianto wrinkled his nose, ignoring Jack's questioning glare, "Seems important, need to file it away. In case we get a new doctor; not that I'll need one. Will you give me them?"_

"_Ianto," Jack interrupted, "Not that I'm not intrigued myself, but is that really it? Filing?"_

_Ianto shrugged, "Sure."_

Later on the Welshman had shoved him in the shoulder, "Of course that wasn't it, you idiot. I want to know what they did to me – what I am now. Don't tell me you wouldn't like the documents on what you are, if they were available?"

He had a point.

* * *

After the recovery days, Jack was allowed to take Ianto away, but the Doctor – appearing in the TARDIS landing room with Amy, but sans TARDIS somehow – explained that given Ianto's recent operation and brush with high altitude cerebral edema, it might be best if they took the visitor's exit.

He did, however, hand over the suit that Jack had found in the Doctor's dressing room; Jack was intrigued by the way it had kept its own unique smell, and hadn't become tainted with the scent of age.

Ianto put it on, carefully, and had to get Jack to help with the tie. Jack did it to his best ability, but an irritated Ianto spent some time adjusting his 'half-arsed' job, finally getting it straight.

When shown to a mirror, Ianto wrinkled his nose in distaste at his face and hair. His hair had been shaved off for the operation, and his head was still heavily bandaged – thankfully, the Doctor handed him a trilby, seemingly out of nowhere, to hide it.

Jack spared a glance into the mirror, and could scarcely disguise his horror at seeing his own face. He looked haggard, exhausted, and yet something in the eyes was so delirious with happiness that he couldn't recognize himself. There was a good amount of stubble on his face – he'd rubbed his chin in disgust, muttering, "God, I need a shave," until Ianto had smiled and patted him on the back, saying he looked 'very rugged'.

He absentmindedly wondered how long it had been since he'd eaten. It hadn't seemed important.

The four of them walked down many corridors in the Basement, the Doctor quietly leading the way, until they came to a huge rolling door, not until the old door in the Hub. It opened as they approached, revealing a twisting staircase which they slowly climbed. Upon reaching the top, Ianto grinned.

"Those smug bastards."

The Basement had a much better cover – the staircase opened into the back room of a bloody Safeway, the door of which was locked to all staff members, but thankfully not to Officials, on the occasions where they had to go outside. The room lead into a corridor, then out through the car park into the morning sunshine.

Amy smiled, "I doubt you two even knew it was morning. It's a time-free zone down there, isn't it, with no windows?"

Jack found himself nodding, "Yeah, it really is. You lose track." He looked at Ianto, and sighed, "I don't know how you managed down there."

Ianto paused in thought. Staring up at the wide blue sky now was surreal, and he could hardly believe himself that he had spent so much time in that dank, dark place. Though, really, it wasn't too different to the place he'd built for himself when he first joined Torchwood – that dark place in his head, where shadows of the past lurked in every corner.

He blinked, noticing that Jack was still looking at him expectantly. He found he couldn't quite meet Jack's gaze when he answered, "I don't know. I guess I'm just good at dealing with what I've got."

There was gentle pressure on his shoulder as Jack squeezed it tentatively, before hesitantly pulling the younger man into a hug. Ianto held on fast to Jack, gripping him like a life-raft. Being with Jack like this could only mean that he was well and truly back, and that his life could start again.

Ianto pulled back when he heard the neatly folded papers in his pocket begin to crinkle, and slid them out from his inside pocket. He'd put them in an envelope just in case, but was still anxious about the fact they were folded at all.

"I'm gonna have to make new copies of these," he muttered, staring at the blank white outside of the envelope. He grinned, looking up at Jack with those beautiful grey eyes, "You bastard, with your hugs and taut body. How dare you."

"Oh, I know. I'm an absolute wanker," Jack smirked, pulling Ianto to him, "Is that the right word? 'Wanker'?"

"Well, you sound like one saying it."

"Harsh," Jack smiled, then tilted his head, eyes sad, "On a serious note, I don't think you know how much I've missed you. It feels like eternities since I've last…seen you, like this. Like you."

He felt Ianto's breath on his cheek as the younger man sighed minutely, "_Jack_. I know. You know me – I'm not great with the talking thing, but believe me, _I know_."

Jack kissed Ianto then, trying to put everything neither of them could say into that one kiss. Ianto wrapped his arms around Jack, forgetting they had company in the form of the Doctor and Amy, closing the gap between them as much as possible.

When they surfaced, the Doctor and Amy were gone; or at least, they had walked some distance to a bench, where the Doctor sat reading a newspaper, and Amy sat texting on her phone, just like the night when Jack had found hope again.

* * *

Days passed, and staying in a hotel got to be too much for Ianto after a while.

There was only so much one could do in a hotel room – no, not _that_ – and Ianto had already reorganized the bathroom and wardrobe five times each within the first day. Jack began to think that maybe it was time to take Ianto's keys out of storage and give him his apartment back. Maybe see Gwen, after that. Rhiannon, too.

The bandages came off fairly quickly; Ianto's healing rate was so fast that the skin of his scalp was already recovered, the staples sticking out obscenely on the paleness of his head. All that was left was for the bruising to fade from the bones fixing themselves, and they could go and have the staples removed.

His hair was growing back funny, and the Welshman was prone to frowning discontentedly and tugging at it, as if willing it to grow quicker. It always made Jack smile that Ianto could be so disconcerted by one detail out of place on his appearance.

"Jack, we have to get out of this hotel room. It's driving me up the wall."

Jack shrugged easily, "Sure. We can do that. What first, apartment or Gwen?"

Ianto gave the immortal the full extent of his purse-lipped disapproval, "I think reassuring Gwen that I'm alive and normal is a bit more important than my apartment. What with her being pregnant and such."

So, they went to see Gwen. Jack had Ianto knock on the door himself; somehow it seemed better that he was just stood in the background, and that Ianto was the main thing. Sure enough, Ianto dutifully knocked on the Cooper-Williams household's door, and it was opened to reveal one Rhys Williams, who immediately went wide-eyed with shock.

"Ianto…you jammy bugger," Rhys murmured, pulling Ianto into a manly hug, accompanied with plenty of back-slapping and furious manly blinking of watering eyes. Jack was just waiting for Rhys to blame it on allergies when Gwen came into the hall to see what the fuss was about.

Her face was a picture. The colour drained from it, and her mouth dropped open, similarly to her husband's, eyes widening impossibly. With a minute sob Gwen rushed to Ianto, enclosing him in a tight hug. Over Ianto's shoulder she looked at Jack, who tried to pretend he wasn't crying too.

Closing her eyes, Gwen held fast to Ianto, while Ianto smiled and tried not to sob. Eventually she pulled back, but kept a hold on Ianto, placing her hands on either side of his face and kissing his forehead.

In a tear-choked voice, her accent thicker with emotion, she whispered, "Chroesawa bacia." _(A/N: The Welsh was from an online translator, and apparently means 'Welcome back'.)_

It drew a smile out of Ianto as he smiled, "Buais ar gerdded achos, ddyhea amsera." _('I've been away so long, I've lost time.')_

"Ddiolch 'ch achos yn d bacia atom," Gwen sniffed, giving a watery laugh. _('Thank you for coming back to us.')_

Hearing them speak to each other in that private tongue, it was hard for him not feel jealous.

* * *

Upon seeing her brother alive and well, accompanied by the man she'd seen at the Italian place, Rhiannon Davies screamed.

"Oh my _god_, Ianto Jones, how _dare_ you!" This was followed up by a slap across the face, and a fierce hug, with hot tears of happiness flowing, "Don't you ever scare us like that again…" Here she leaned back, with a small smile, wiping her eyes, "And you have to visit more often, in case we have another crisis."

Johnny gave Ianto a gruff handshake, saying, "Glad to see you're still up and about, mate." Jack supposed he was still shaken from being discovered naked by UNIT. _Oh yeah, I went there._

Jack was promptly invited in by the Davies'; he feared for his safety under the iron glare of Rhiannon, but Ianto kept a hand on the small of his back and pushed him in, smiling sweetly. She bustled about the tiny kitchen, grabbing assorted mugs and starting to make tea, all the while keeping up questions.

"So, Jack, tell me – what do you get out of corrupting my baby brother?"

"So, Jack, you must be pretty well off, to take our Ianto to that posh Italian?"

"So, Jack, what is Ianto to you?"

The first two questions were easy to deflect with a quip and a grin, but the third – spoken when he had just taken a gulp of the best tea he'd ever tasted – caused said tea to spurt out of his nose as he snorted.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"I said, _what is Ianto to you?_" Rhi's gaze was even, but there was a hardness behind her eyes that made it hard to look away. The eyes were hereditary – Ianto was staring at him with equal intensity.

"Everything," Jack replied simply, and tightened his grip on Ianto's hand.

* * *

Later, Rhiannon let herself cry. Jack had excused himself for a moment, decided to go and warm up the SUV for them before they left, and stood awhile outside, listening to the siblings' real reunion.

* * *

It took time, a lot of time, to get the Hub rebuilt. Jack doubted if he could have done it without Ianto – no, screw that, he knew he couldn't have done it without him.

The Welshman's hair had grown back fully, and was back into its usual tidy style – he seemed slightly smug as he adjusted his tie and looked at Jack, quirking an eyebrow, "Like it?"

It was an exact replica, if a little…_cleaner._ Jack smiled; he couldn't have expected Ianto, King of Tidy, to have spent time rubbing dirt into every crevice, just so it looked like it had before he'd cleaned it.

There's something frightening about Ianto, even now – it's the way his movements are so sinuous, so graceful in a truly predatory way, and the slight coldness behind his eyes sometimes – and Jack found himself worrying if he could be enough for this new Ianto, this strong, unbreakable man.

"I love it," Jack replied, fighting to keep the shake out of his voice, "but when's Gwen gonna come and check it out?"

Ianto snorted, with a beatific smile, instantly lifting Jack's nerves, "Jack, she's heavily pregnant. It'll take her a lot longer to get here than it did before."

Then, Ianto's smile turned wicked, "Want to christen it, so to speak?"

Jack didn't reply, only tugged Ianto onto the lift wordlessly, and into a fierce embrace, "Hell yes."

* * *

Ianto felt pretty darn proud of the rebuilt Hub, looking around it. He missed the presence of Myfanwy, as ever, and the memories he associated with her, but working for Torchwood meant they could end up with a new pet at any time. He idly hoped for a stegosaurus, though admitted to himself they wouldn't be able to fit it in.

_Hopefully not a 456._ He shuddered, dimly recalling his last moments, and seeing the creature spewing umbongo everywhere in the hazy, static background. Even when he was dying, it was disgusting and distracting.

Sitting on a new shoddy sofa, he stared at the documents, still sealed in their envelope. The folds would definitely be set in now; that meant having to scan them in and re-print them, maybe even re-write them. Despite everything, this brought a wry smile to his face; this really was back to work, to the archives.

His hands didn't shake as he reached for the envelope and opened it carefully; he supposed not showing fear was one of the things the Officials – _sorry, Cath and Learner_, he corrected himself mentally – had installed in him.

Drawing out the documents, he sighed, and unfolded them.

Ianto studied every paper, every diagram and print-out; every scribbled note Cath or Learner had written to him. If Jack knew what he was doing, he didn't show it; just sat in his newly replicated office, chin perched on his hands, brooding as always.

So that was it. He was going to live forever. Save for being burned alive or beheaded, he could regenerate. He was like Jack now, never aging, and he'd never truly grasped how terrifying it must've been for Jack until it happened to him. Until he was confronted with the sad truth of his new life.

_Well, this wasn't quite the way I wanted it_, the Rift quipped in Ianto's mind. In spite of himself, Ianto smiled. Maybe one day he'd want the quiet eternity of death over living through everything – maybe one day he and Jack could finally leave the world in peace. But not right now.

The Welshman knocked quietly on Jack's office door, and the captain looked up, eyes expectant, as if to say, "Well?"

"I…" he started, but the words wouldn't come out. Jack's gaze softened, "I'm…like you."

Jack got up, and pulled him into a hug, "I'm sorry."

Ianto looked up at this, staring into Jack's ice-blue eyes to see if he could understand what was going on in the brain beyond them, "For what? Saving my life?"

"No, no, not that. The fact you're stuck like this. The fact I let it get this far," Jack's voice was restrained, to match the tightness around his eyes.

Ianto sighed, pulling away from the warmth that was Jack, "No, Jack. Don't apologize. This is more than I could have hoped for. I'm just…"

"Scared?" Jack crossed his arms, smiling lopsidedly, "At least you know the why and wherefore."

Ianto took a deep breath, and let it whistle out of his mouth slowly, "Well, yeah. It's just…what do you do with unlimited time?"

Jack took a long moment to look at him, and so Ianto used the time to study his boss' – _his lover's_ – face. There was something different there, something that had changed over the course of the last few months. There was something older about him. Even if Jack hadn't aged, his soul had, and it was easy to see in his eyes. _He seems wiser_, Ianto mused, moving to Jack's side and absently toying with his hand. _More…responsible. Not surprising, really._

Jack stared into Ianto's flint-grey eyes, and said seriously, though with a hint of a grin playing on his lips, "Well, Ianto, what do you want to do?"

* * *

_A/N: Sequel?_


	16. Story Arc II: The Only Exception

_A/N: So I couldn't stay away. (: I just like to make them miserable. I dunno, I liked the tone of CoE, but am keeping the same witty banter we all love. Updates on this will probably be more sporadic than they were for TPBU - as dreamingofsunshine put it, life is catching up with me. This is basically the start of a new story arc - story arc 1 was focusing on Ianto's revival and its consequences, and story arc 2 (entitled 'The Only Exception') is about the effects that the Officials have on the way Torchwood runs, and how Torchwood re-adjusts after CoE. Chapter names will be just random songs that inspired them; this one is 'The Only Exception', by Paramore. (: Anyways, enough of me, do read on and I hope you enjoy it.  
_

* * *

His neck did this really strange thing sometimes.

Jack had been sitting perfectly calmly at his desk for some time, struggling through the paperwork he'd been putting off since joining Torchwood. It was a wonder to him how Ianto could methodically work through this stuff so easily – then again, it didn't help that Jack's handwriting looked like chicken-scratch, at _best_. So many years of living, and he'd never tried to change his handwriting. Go figure.

So there Jack was sitting, frowning down at his papers, until Ianto – moving as silently as…well, a very silent thing – knocked on his door.

And that just about gave Jack a heart attack. His head snapped up, and his neck CLICKED

_very_

_loudly._

Ianto's eyes widened for a moment at the noise, before he opened the door, and immediately fell against the doorframe, laughing hysterically.

Jack's brow crinkled in bemusement, "When you're quite finished…" His heart thudded unevenly in his chest; it still unnerved him how silently Ianto could move, and how very _inhuman_ his lover was. Even under Ianto's three-piece suit (the jacket of which was neatly hung up on the new coat-hooks that the archivist had installed, sneakily), he could see the sinuous lines of the Welshman's muscles, moving seamlessly even in laughter.

Finally, Ianto wiped his eyes and straightened up, strangely graceful, saying, "Right. How are you getting on with the paperwork?"

Jack wrung his hands in reply, "It doesn't make any sense to me."

Sighing, Ianto moved to Jack's side, an arm sliding easily around his shoulders, "I'll do it. Your penmanship is awful." He pressed a kiss to Jack's temple, easing the tension there.

That was the same. Always. The way Ianto touched him, how his smallest gestures could mean so much. Even if the body and the mind controlling them were different, the actions – and the way they put Jack's mind at ease – stayed the same.

But he worried; the mind was the part he needed to identify with. And the body – not that it wasn't _amazing_ – was plain _frightening_, too. It was different, more responsive, and more alert; Ianto had been a foreign prospect for years until Suzie's second death, even when they were just shagging, nothing more, and now he felt he was back at square one.

Ianto moved with a certain elegance nowadays, and Jack wondered at the fact he was even allowed to touch him. He kissed Ianto then, softly, just the barest touch of lips to lips.

He wondered if Ianto could hear his heart pounding, and fancied he could hear Ianto's too.

* * *

The phone rang. Not the main phone in the tourist office, the line they lent to police and other workaday organizations; that wouldn't warrant Jack panicking like this, but the private line which set off the tone in Jack's office.

Glancing at the ID, Ianto quirked an eyebrow despite himself. The ID read simply 'Basement'; no reason to panic, or so he thought. The way Jack was pleading silently – as if the callers could hear them without the use of a phone – for him to answer it instead revealed him knowing a lot more than Ianto.

The Welshman picked up, keeping his eyes steadily on Jack's face, studying it in meticulous detail, "Hello? Oh, Learner. No, I'm afraid he's occupied right now. What was it you needed to talk to him…about…?" Here the older man winced and cringed back into his seat. Ianto grimaced.

"Ahhh…" Jack whined, as if in pain. Ianto repressed a snort.

"Right. Yes, I see. I'll pass on the message," he said, flinty-eyed at Jack, "although he never really does listen to these things. Goodbye."

Now, he'd known it would be something Jack didn't like. And he could wholly understand the older man's apprehension; after all, it had only been a few months…well, it would seem like minutes to Jack, after living for so long. The younger man sighed. Of course, Jack's concerns were now_ his_ too, since…his change of circumstances. The part where he wouldn't die.

Jack removed his hands from his face tiredly, rubbing at his eyes on the way, and stared up at Ianto, all blue eyes and apologies, "They've been calling a lot, actually. I can't deal with it anymore. Was it the usual warning, like if we don't sort it out they'll take matters into their own hands?"

Ianto smiled beatifically, though made sure Jack could hear the sarcasm in his voice, "No, Jack. They've taken matters into their own hands. I helpfully have to pay the Basement a visit, to review their candidates."

Jack snorted sourly, "I don't see how it's necessary now, anyways. And I don't see how we can _replace_ them, either." His eyes grew clouded, and Ianto heard the chord of pain that rang out in that mid-Atlantic accent.

He placed his hand over Jack's, hoping the other man couldn't see the hesitance. Of course, he did, and responded by taking Ianto's hand into his properly. He was so anxious to show Jack he was still him, still normal, that sometimes his trying to be the same only revealed just how much he _wasn't_ the same. Ianto sighed.

"Jack. We can't replace them – not the people, not _ever_. But they're right. Despite our respective…_conditions_," he struggled, glaring as Jack smiled wryly, "we do have a pregnant operative, and someone does need to monitor us, in case I get something that won't heal without help or it looks like you won't revive. We need a new medic."

"But Tosh, too?" Jack queried, "I mean, between the three of us, we can almost do everything she could. Not that anyone could match her – it took an age just to _find_ her."

"It's temporary. All of this is temporary. We three are still learning and frankly, once Gwen's had the baby and all of that, we can look after ourselves again. It's just that we're too much of a risky ally for the Basement as is."

Ianto watched Jack's expression turn to a pout, with real sadness behind the eyes, "I dunno. It feels like betraying them," Jack turned the full effect of his eyes onto Ianto, and the Welshman resisted the urge to kiss him then and there, "like they're still…here. Y'know?"

Suddenly there was an overwhelming lump in his throat that he simply couldn't swallow. Wordlessly he squeezed Jack's hand, with a nod. They stayed that way for a while, or at least until Ianto cleared his throat and said, with a voice that was only slightly rough, "Regardless, I still need to go and review candidates for the positions."

"Then I'm coming with you," Jack said, rising and reaching for his greatcoat. As he moved, Ianto inhaled out of habit, and the immortal grinned, "Can't get enough, can you?"

To deflect the sudden tension that had sprung up, Ianto smiled blithely, "I'll tell Gwen. May as well make it a team effort." He pulled on his suit jacket over his waistcoat, and straightened his already-straight tie.

"Already heard you," the Welshwoman said, peering around the doorframe. Ianto noted her eyes were a little glassy from secret tears. He guessed she'd been listening in, and didn't blame her. He gave her a small smile, and a tiny eyeroll at Jack's pout. Gwen Cooper-Williams laughed amiably at their routine, and Ianto took the time to appreciate what a nice-looking woman she was, with her bottomless brown eyes and wide smile. He proffered his arm to his friend, "You need an escort. This is for your benefit, after all."

Gwen elbowed him, then threaded her arm through the nook in his, her other hand stroking her pronounced bump – pregnancy suited her; she practically glowed, "Ah, well, I suppose we should be honoured the Basement worries so much about us. Though, I'm sure if they had it their way, I wouldn't be working at all…" She looked up at Jack, "I'll have to stop doing field missions once we get some new recruits, won't I? Once we've trained them up?"

Ianto studied Jack's reaction carefully. Something in his posture suggested resignation, and Ianto's gaze softened. Something aout Gwen in that moment seemed so sad, he would have thought the same as their captain.

"You shouldn't technically be doing them now, missy. And anyways, don't think of it as stopping, think of it as becoming the head of the Hub. Or something."

"Like the Oracle in Batman," Ianto offered, with a wry grin.

Gwen rolled her eyes, "I don't know if I should be offended by that, or mortified that I got the reference. Let's go, boys."

The three linked arms, Jack and Ianto flanking Gwen, and set off for the SUV.

* * *

Learner paced anxiously, in his human form. He figured it was probably too early in the day to show the Torchwood candidates his real form – after all, these were fairly ordinary people, who had no idea why they were here, or even why they were chosen.

"Um, Mr. Learner?" a quiet girl with a short blonde bob queried, "When do you think the, um, 'guests' are going to arrive?"

Learner smiled, eyes crinkling in good humour. He appreciated the air quotes around 'guests' – he had to hand it to her, Blondie sure knew when she was being duped. He knew her name, but, possibly a side effect from being in his human form for so long, he was losing clarity, and had designated each of the candidates a nickname, and tolerated, even enjoyed, their banter.

"Well, I'm sure it won't be long, don't worry. I can understand if any of you would like to leave, however," He cast a speculative glance over the small assembled group, and watched as about five of them made their excuses and left. Blondie stayed in her seat stubbornly, and Learner fought his rising admiration for her down, "Don't all jump at once, mind."

He felt hot hands on the back of his neck, winding their fingers through the tufts of hair there, and felt a wonderful heat run through his body. Despite the formal setting, he leaned into Cath's touch. He murmured, "Don't get me started, Cath, now's not the time or place."

Cath smiled at the shocked faces of the candidates as they took in her hair and skin. He guessed she was wondering what they made of her; whether they knew how dangerous she was just through the tattoos, as she'd wished. Judging by the paleness of some of them, he believed they did. "Now, Learner, it's not a big deal. I'm just easing them in. Just one of the tests – like when they see you for what you really are."

Turning, Learner stared into her eyes, and saw that they were half-crazed, "Cath. You get antsy like this, you're dangerous. Calm down or I'm shutting you away and you won't get a say in this. At all."

"I knew you'd say that. Just 'cause you're the senior Official, you think you're all-powerful, you think I couldn't bring myself to kill you if I wanted," Cath ranted, wild-eyed, and Learner noted the red spots tinting her tattooed cheeks beneath the ink, betraying her mindset, "I could, you know. It would be so _easy_."

His grip on her arms tightened; he hadn't even realized he had grabbed them. He saw the wince in her eyes, and said through gritted teeth, "You've left me no choice, Cath. You get like this. You get over-the-top and all paranoid and you don't think straight. That damn block in your brain," he paused, seeing the flicker of recognition in her eyes, and the hurt that followed, "Oh, damn it Cath, just go to sleep. You need to sleep."

At his words, she seemed to slump in on herself, and he put an arm around her to prop her up and make it seem like nothing had changed. The purple circles under her eyes were prominent at this angle, as her eyes fluttered shut. Learner let his hand glance over her tangled red hair tenderly, and then cleared his throat. The candidates looked up. Learner winced; the confrontation that he'd presumed they'd heard had in fact been a quiet and imperceptible argument, known only to him and the now-sleeping Catherine.

"I'm just going to help Agent Catharine to her room – she gets faint spells – and I'll be right back. Don't trash anything," he joked, and left with Cath propped against him.

As soon as he'd cleared the room, he shifted into his true form, and whipped her into his arms, barely jostling her. Pressing a kiss to her tense temple, he carried her to one of the isolation rooms, placing her on the same bed she'd woken up on all those years ago, a new being.

These lows were getting worse, and he didn't know what was causing it. And that frightened him more than anything he'd experienced before.

* * *

_A/N: Cheerful, aren't I?_


	17. Changes

_A/N: Dragged you all back in didn't I? (: Well, here is a bumper chapter, longer than most, based on the song 'Changes' by Will Young, cause I love him. Story arc 2 is certainly going to be longer than story arc 1, as we have two new additions to the Torchwood personnel. It was really hard to write them in this particular chapter, because I can't really develop them a lot at this stage, so I apologize if they come across Mary-Sue-ish, I promise they won't be that way for long. They play a big part in this arc. Also, you're all very good at speculating what is wrong with Cath; at the moment there are two paths she could take, but I haven't yet decided. Anyways. Yeah. Enjoy this, as I'm likely to be busy with history coursework, english coursework, and art coursework. The joys of GCSE life. (: Thanks for staying with this, returning reviewers, you guys are awesome.  
_

* * *

"I wonder whether they have any clue what they're getting into," Gwen mused from the back seat, leaning forward so that her head was in between Jack and Ianto's seats. She noticed that they glanced at each other for a moment, a flicker of amusement in their eyes.

"Did any of us?" Jack said, searching her face in earnest, but keeping his driving perfectly normal. It had always freaked her out how he could do that – perhaps it was from living so long. Of course, now Ianto would be the same...

She felt the cold feeling spreading in her insides, and tried desperately to ignore it. They'd told her the facts – that Ianto wouldn't age, and couldn't be killed – and honestly, it scared her. She wasn't scared for herself, but for the younger man; far too much had happened to him in the 25 years he'd lived. _25 years isn't enough of life_, Gwen thought silently, _for him to be okay with not changing anymore_.

Gwen sighed, and looked up, surprised to see Ianto staring at her sadly, a look on his face as if to say, _'I know.'_ A voice surfaced, quiet in her head, the voice of the man looking into her eyes.

_I can hear you, you're thinking so loudly. And you're right. But don't tell Jack._

Somehow Ianto's presence in her mind didn't alarm her; she'd known he was more psychically trained than she or Jack were, from reading the papers he'd received from the Basement. She nodded minutely, willing her voice to carry to his mind, too. Torchwood had a small amount of psychic training in the beginning, but relied nowhere near as heavily on it as the Officials seemed to.

And, so much quieter than his voice, but there nevertheless, she felt hers travel.

_Okay._

"Okay, kids, we're here," Jack called, and Gwen slumped back in her seat, exhausted mentally from the effort. She felt the baby nudge her tentatively, and stroked her bump, more to sooth her frazzled nerves than the child growing inside her. Ianto turned back to Jack, and she noted that he didn't even look fazed from communicating with her. Ianto was new all over, nowadays, the strongest of all of them, and she wondered whether that was a good thing.

As they left the SUV and headed towards the Safeway beyond which the Basement lay, Ianto took her hand, and squeezed it, saying in a whisper so quiet she couldn't be sure he'd even said it, "I wish I knew."

* * *

He watched her sleeping awhile in the isolation room before he left to meet the Torchwood personnel. It always amused him how she was so different when she was asleep – she reverted to the tiny, gasping angel they'd brought back to life on that cold steel table so long ago.

How long had it been, exactly? He counted in his head – years were irrelevant to those who did not age, but she had been 20 when she'd been brought back. It was a very long time ago…20, maybe 25 years?

_25 years_. Such a long time, and nothing had gone wrong with her. Why now?

He turned, shifting into his non-descript human form, and headed up the stairs to the Safeway room, opening the door and waiting. He could hear the Torchwood team approaching, even with his hearing dimmed by human ears. That new SUV of theirs made enough racket to announce their presence to anyone with a brain.

The old SUV had been recovered, not without a certain amount of help from the Basement, and when they'd recovered it, they'd found the hubcaps missing, the paintjob scratched, and knobs drawn on the windows, but miraculously none of the alien tech disturbed. They helped the Torchwood team to shift all of their equipment into the new SUV, and rewire it all, then had aided in the disposal of the old one.

After prying the back doors open with his bare hands, Ianto had grinned, "Well, there's your problem. They couldn't open these doors, could they? The deadlock is alien tech." And then Captain Jack Harkness had grinned and sighed in relief, kissing the ex-Official lightly in thanks.

Learner whistled absently, a human habit he'd picked up. He wondered whether Ianto Jones was happier now. He wondered whether Captain Jack Harkness could measure up to him.

And when they arrived, he wondered how a woman like Gwen Cooper-Williams had ever gotten involved with an organization like Torchwood. She was clearly pregnant, and he smiled in spite of himself; she did look very good with it. She had the kind of face that implied a certain level of friendliness, but the look in her eyes was guarded.

"Ah, you must be Learner. It's nice to finally meet you properly…last time I saw you you were jumping off a roof. I'm Gwen, I work with Jack and Ianto at Torchwood," she said brusquely, extending a hand. Learner shook it warmly, studying the laugh lines that still showed on her face, despite living through an international crisis like the 456.

"Mrs. Cooper-Williams. Yes, it's nice to meet you. No doubt I look different to when I last saw you with your husband?" he joked, then cursed inwardly. Spending so much time as a human was making him lose his detached nature.

Once he'd shaken her hand and led them all into the Basement, he shifted back seamlessly. He saw Gwen's eyes widen briefly, then her face return to normal. _Interesting._

"We've got a lot of suitable people, Captain Harkness. Some are medics, some are computer specialists, some are both – none of them know why they're here. I'm just going to show them my real form, to weed out the weaklings, and then I'll leave you with the rest," Learner said offhandedly, and turned as they reached the room containing the applicants. Captain Harkness gave a short nod, and replied, "Please, go ahead."

Studying the captain's face with his heightened white eyes, he found apprehension and sadness, as if finding new operatives was nothing short of treason. Learner shrugged it off, and entered the room.

* * *

He had a different approach; that much was clear. Ianto snorted as four potentials fainted and the rest stiffened. He studied each face to see who would calm down first; surprisingly, a petite blonde woman, and a dark, curly-haired man pulled their masks of calm on again first. Ianto glanced at Jack – the older man had noticed this too, and exchanged a small smile with him.

"Well, we'll have to Retcon the humans who have fainted," Learner said, in what could have been a joking way. Ianto raised an eyebrow, "Oh, joy."

Learner soon shifted the unconscious potentials out of the room, and Jack, Ianto and Gwen looked at the remaining few. There were about eight people left; it wouldn't take long.

Sighing, Ianto moved to form a triangular huddle with his coworkers, "So how do we want to do this?"

"One by one, them with us in a room. We need a friendly-looking room just to relax them, to be honest. How many medics are there, and how many nerds are there?" Jack quipped, with an easy smile.

Gwen nudged him, then straightened up, asking the eight, "How many of you are here to be interviewed for a medical position?" As if on cue, half raised their hands. Gwen whistled through her teeth, turning back to the two men, "Couldn't have worked out better, boys. Which shall we do first?"

Ianto sighed, "It's Jack's call," he looked at Jack expectantly, "though I would go with medics. That's the main thing the Basement is worried about."

Learner had returned to the room in human form, and was leaning against the wall, arms folded. Ianto's eyes narrowed a fraction at the casualness of his posture, then questioned, "Where can we interview these people?" The alien smiled, "The white room, Ianto. There's been a few modifications, you'll find."

Ianto turned back to Jack, and saw that his lover's face was in a similar grimace to his own. They both had unpleasant memories of that room, and he noticed that Gwen looked sympathetic, rubbing their shoulders comfortingly. She took over, "Right. Medics, with us. Computer technicians, stay here with Mr. Learner. Learner, can we have the medics' files?"

He dutifully handed them to Ianto, and the three of them headed down the corridor, Ianto leading, with the four potential operatives trailing behind, the petite blonde in front.

He sighed softly, and felt Jack take his free hand and squeeze it. Somehow, it made him feel a little bit better, like nothing had changed after all.

* * *

"Right...first up, Daria Morris," Jack called, leaning out from the white room to look at the candidates seated on the chairs outside. The blonde stood up, dusted herself off calmly, and followed Jack in.

Now, Daria had not been living in Cardiff for a very long time. In fact, the mysterious government round-up of children had been her first strange event to witness there. Of course, she'd dutifully called home to Germany, asking after her younger brother Walter, and found that they did not want him, after all – something about him being too old, at 15.

She'd dismissed it for a while, looking out of the window of her terraced house on the estate, until she'd seen Johnny Davies from next door and a cute police officer fighting army officers. That was strange. And stranger still was the dark-haired woman running for the hills with a horde of children in tow. That was stranger still.

At that point, Daria came outside, and decided to give Johnny and the police officer a hand. Needless to say, there were still healing grazes on her knuckles, and a faint shadow across one cheekbone was fading fast. Her split lip was healed over, but left a pale, just barely visible scar across her lips, stretching onto her palate and chin.

Oh, and she'd found out the police officer's name, and phone number. He was taking her out again next week.

"So…Daria," the American began. Daria awoke from her thoughts to see blue eyes, staring her down, "we have it down here that you were charged with assault on a armed officer. Can you tell us a bit about that?"

She couldn't resist a snort of derision, but idly hoped they wouldn't notice her slight accent when she began to speak, "I pleaded guilty early, and therefore avoided a prison sentence. I was made to pay compensation to the officer in question rather than a fine because I admitted to what I'd done, and openly. I think you can see he did a fair amount of damage, too," she noticed the quiet Welsh man laugh, "but as they say, you should see the other guy."

She studied them while they deliberated on what to ask her next, surprised by her honesty. She'd gathered that the American was the leader of the group, but there was something strange about the other man, and the way his eyes were carefully guarded. She turned away from him, and looked at the woman. Daria's eyes met hers, and the woman smiled briefly; it was a kind smile, and Daria felt she'd enjoy working with her, if she got the job.

"You have experience dealing with serious injuries, it says here. You've worked in the A&E departments in Germany and the UK, and apparently you've got a high success rate in surgeries," the younger man said, with a small smile, "all by the tender age of 26. How is that possible?"

_God. Always the same in interviews._ "I was lucky. Unless I'm mistaken, my CV should say where and when I was educated for my medical career, and how."

The young man smiled wider, "You're correct. Sorry, just winding you up."

"Miss Morris, what do you think this job is? Who we are?" the woman questioned, her hands clasped together on the mahogany desk. _Ah, the big question_, Daria thought, taking her time and looking around the room. The walls were white, the furniture mahogany, and the floor was thick burgundy shag pile. Her heels had buried themselves quite sufficiently in it, and so she crossed one leg over the other to save her dignity when she stood up again.

"Well…after watching the governments of the world trying to round up peoples' children, I'd guess that you were some of the people trying to stop it. I recognize you, now," she said, gesturing to the woman, "I helped my neighbour and boyfriend fight off the officers you were running from." Here the younger man frowned, "Who's your neighbour?"

"Johnny and Rhiannon Davies, and their children," Daria answered, and the younger man laughed in surprise, exclaiming, "That's my sister and her husband!"

The American shushed them irritatedly, "Answer the question."

Daria started to answer, but the woman stopped her, "Is your boyfriend Police Constable Andy Davidson?" She nodded, and laughed as the woman did, too, "I'm his old partner, PC Gwen Cooper-Williams! Fancy that, eh, Jack?"

_Finally, a name to the face._ Daria looked at Jack intently and said, "I think this job will open far more horizons to me than I ever dreamed of, back in Munich. I don't think that you are from a government organization – I'd be able to tell a lot about you by now, you'd have reacted more to the way I speak so freely. You're all very closed-off in your mannerisms, you're very professional, like you have a lot of secrets," she sighed, looking at each of them in turn, "I just think that this would be beyond anything I've ever done before, and I'd love a chance to look after your team while you do whatever it is you do, which I think must be very unusual, for these interviews to be so confidential. Correct me if I'm wrong."

A smile flickered onto the face of the American, and he looked at Gwen and the younger man, "Can we keep her? She's precious."

Relief washed over Daria briefly, before Gwen said, "But don't you think we should interview the other medics, just in case?"

The younger man studied Daria in a way that felt extremely personal, as if he was looking through her, "I think Jack's right. She's got that way. Same way that you had, Gwen, when we recruited you."

Jack stretched out his hand, and it made her feel like crying. She placed her hand in his, and warmth flooded her fingertips, "Welcome aboard, Daria. Welcome to Torchwood."

* * *

_Well, they're quick to pick their recruits_, Learner mused, somewhat smugly.

It was an elaborate set-up, certainly, but it had worked. They'd picked the right medic in Blondie, the one he and Cath had both wanted them to pick, and now all that was left was for them to pick the final operative.

He watched as the three un-interviewed medics trailed back into the room, and the four remaining trailed out. He kept his eye on the dark, curly-haired man – they would surely pick him. They wouldn't be able to resist; Learner could feel it in his bones. And judging by how the man's gaze had flickered up to meet Learner's, so could he.

He led the medics into the next room, where he had carried the potentials who had fainted, and smiled at them, as he locked the door quietly, "Please, take a seat. You'll understand if we have to make you forget all of this, right?"

The three sat down, and immediately the gags snapped over their mouths, wrists and ankles on the high-backed chairs, halting any protests in their tracks. He smiled again, showing teeth, "Not that you have a say. This might pinch a bit."

There was a large screen mounted on the wall at the front of the room, where he would play the video. It was a very specific way of removing memories, better than Retcon. This would remove the memories to do with the interviews from the past months; all it needed was a keyword, already imbedded in the potentials' brains, to function. He tapped it in from a keyboard at the back of the room, and smiled.

He flicked the screen on, and listened as the screaming began.

* * *

"Right…Can we have Charlton Harrison, please?" Gwen called into the corridor, as their third interviewee left. The calm, curly-haired man stood, excusing himself from his friendly conversation with Daria, seated outside with a copy of _Vogue_ in her grasp. He followed Gwen into the room after straightening his suit.

She took her seat in between Jack and Ianto, and smiled reassuringly at the man as he took his seat opposite them. He returned the smile, and ran a hand across his cheek, dark with stubble, before they began the interview.

He was quiet and polite, but with a strange solidness to him, as if he was more real than anyone else. He spoke with the mannerisms of someone older, so she guessed his parents were probably old-fashioned. _He seems like the type to open doors for people_, she thought, and smiled, surprisingly fond of him already.

_The type of man mothers like_, she mused, taking in his tanned skin and startling green eyes. He had a slightly large nose, she noticed, though somehow this made him look more likeable, and less conventional. But there was something _off_ about him. Something very familiar, something they'd experienced before. Breathing in, her eyes widened. She smelt fudge. _Just like before_. She sat forward in her chair, stopping Charlton mid-flow.

"Charlton, this is a strange question for me to ask you, so please forgive me if I'm mistaken," she began, narrowing her eyes a little to gauge his reaction, "but are you from…_around_ here?" She put a strange kind of emphasis on the words; clearly he wasn't from Wales, because he spoke with a posh London accent, but she had a feeling that wasn't what was strange about him.

She watched as Charlton's eyes flickered in recognition of her meaning, and he started, "_Oh._ You mean…?" She nodded silently. The young man looked at her with a kind of sadness in his eyes, "Do you think I'm insane?"

Ianto gasped quietly at her side; she glanced at him to see his flint-grey eyes boring into hers, "_No._ It can't be."

Minutely, Gwen nodded, "I think so. Jack, Charlton isn't…from _here_. Like you, or Diane…"

She watched as realization dawned on the captain, and he gaped, "Oh, damn. You've gotta be kidding. Gwen, how could you tell?" Gwen shrugged, "I smelt fudge in the air around him. Same as when we had Diane, John, and Emma-Louise. It fades, but when I first met them, it was all I could notice. It was a gamble," she smiled at Charlton, "but apparently it's a surefire sign, for me."

Jack sighed, "Charlton, this is a crazy question too, but…what year were you born, exactly?"

"I was born on the 22nd of January, 1901, the day Queen Victoria died," the young man said, quietly, reservedly, "I was a conscientious objector, like my father, during the Great War – of course, that wouldn't matter, I was too young to be affected by conscription, but that war lit a fire in my belly, regardless," here he laughed, and Gwen frowned, "When I was fifteen, in the summer of 1916, I was walking home during the daytime from a friend's house, and the street was completely empty. Then the sky lit up and I was still in London, but everything was different. I looked at a newspaper in a bin and it said the year was 2000. I thought I was crazy."

Jack winced, but questioned, "Do you know anything about how you got to be in the future?"

"No," Charlton answered, folding his arms and sighing, leaning back in his seat, "You can imagine I was rather confused, and upset. I was taken in by a woman passing by, who I now see as my second mother. She asked me my name and where my parents were, and I told her my name, but that I didn't know where my parents were. She adopted me – and the rest is history, as they say."

There was a heavy pause as Jack and Ianto digested the information, but Gwen was already itching to ask another question, "Charlton, how did you come to learn about computers?"

Here, he smiled back at her, and she found herself smiling, too, "Practice. I was lucky to be brought here when they were just starting out. Everyone has something they like to lose themselves in, and mine is computers. I felt quite proud of myself, a boy from a time long gone, better at using modern devices than children born in this era. It just came naturally."

Gwen looked at Jack and Ianto, who were sharing a look of deep thought with each other. She wondered whether Ianto was communicating silently with Jack, and whether Jack could reply. Finally, the pair looked at Charlton, and Jack said, "Well. This leaves us with no choice, really. Charlton, we'd like to offer you a position with us. As a person displaced from your own time, this would offer you more protection from other organizations funded by the government that might like to return you to your own era."

"You mean UNIT," Charlton offered, with a smile, "I hacked into their system a while ago. Their security is lax, at best."

"Well, them, and others. London is out of our jurisdiction, as we deal with Cardiff anomalies, but you don't seem to have done any harm to the time stream. It looks as though your displacement was a purposeful event, or we – myself and my old team – would have had some indication at our base when you were actually moved," Jack explained, with a grin, "Would you like to find out more?"

"Of _course_. Thank you for your kindness and understanding," Charlton said, standing and proffering his hand, "And please, call me Charlie."

_Charlie_, Gwen thought, and smiled at her colleagues. This didn't feel like the old team, but it felt like a new one.


	18. Paper Wings

_A/N: God I shouldn't be up this late but David Tennant's last episode made me feel very Torchwood-y. I realize that by the looks of things, my portrayal of Matt Smith's Doctor is possibly not accurate, but I don't care, because by the time he comes back into this fic, we'll have seen at least a bit of the new series, and I'll be able to write him more accurately, okay? (: Good. It's 1.33 am, and so this note will be brief, but MY GOD I HATE RTD'S WRITING. It's really very bad. That storyline could have been so much better but as per usual RTD ruined it by being the guy who wrote it. In the hands of anyone else, that could have been staggering. Ah well. Song for this one is going to be 'Paper Wings' by Rise Against because frankly it's an epic song and it's bittersweet, like this chapter. Enjoy, guys. (:  
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* * *

Waking up in the isolation room was always the same, really. In a very comforting way.

Learner had set the lighting to move up gradually as the light conditions changed outside; mimicking the effect a window would have on the room. She was awake from the very first traces of light, but kept her eyes closed, relishing in the gradual fade into light and consciousness that was so similar to when she'd first been revived.

She opened her eyes, eventually, and sighed, burrowing into the duvet. _I'll have to get up in a minute_, she thought, staring up at the ceiling, squinting through the light. _At least we know they picked the right recruits_.

Cath rose fluidly, discarding the duvet, then thinking again and wrapping it about her shoulders like a cape. As if he'd been waiting for her to get up, Learner entered the room with a tentative smile.

She studied his Umbreyta form with a half-smile in response; from the very beginning there was something very different about him that she'd loved completely. Not even how remarkable his true form was, it was just something immeasurable, indescribable.

She took his hand in hers, and squeezed softly, "I'm sorry. Was I bad?"

His eyes looked pained, but he smiled slightly, "Well, you weren't a bundle of laughs. I talked you down. Again."

"Hmm, I don't remember any of it. Every single time, I don't _remember_," Cath said, rubbing her cheek against the back of his hand, sighing at the contrast in temperature. Something was different about their connection recently, as if it had become more vital, more important that she was near to him. Offhandedly, she mused, "Learner, do Umbreyta believe in marriage?"

His eyes widened briefly, but he held his tongue, "It's a little more complicated than that. It's…more, well, spiritual. There's no ceremony. You just _know_."

And so Cath looked into his endless white eyes, and brushed a kiss against his cool cheek, and knew.

* * *

"Right," Jack said, eying the new recruits warily as they entered through the Hub door. They'd been trained swiftly, and already they'd established who was fit for field service and who wasn't. One of each, as it happened - at least he wouldn't be putting a full five young lives on the line this time.

He let his gaze drift to Ianto, quietly making coffee at the kitchenette. Already he'd picked up on how each new member liked their coffee – Daria was an Americano, and Charlton was a caramel macchiato. For a moment he idly wondered where Ianto had picked up the knowledge of how to make a caramel macchiato, and then dismissed it, as there was far too much Ianto knew that surprised him to think too much about it.

He still worried, even though it had been weeks since they had seen the Hub, that they would find it too much and need Retconning. He had more faith in Charlton – the young man's own life was so disjointed in time that he had doubted he would find the Hub daunting in the slightest. He was right, as it turned out; Charlton had looked around briefly, nodded, and then quietly questioned where his computer was. He had been slower to pick up the usage and maintenance of the tasers and guns, and was still not entirely accurate, and so would probably remain at the Hub for most field missions unless they were in dire need of extra hands.

Jack wondered whether it was just him being nosy, or if he was right in guessing that Charlton's ineptitude with guns and the like was based on reluctance and dislike of violence. After seeing his father sent to a labour camp for objecting to war, it wouldn't be surprising. He made a note not to push the matter too far.

Daria had reacted slightly more to the Hub, but had surpassed everyone's expectations in the field training department. The blonde had looked around the chasm of a base, eyes wide, and blanched thoroughly.

"Um," she had begun, "could I possibly have a strong coffee? This is a _lot_ to take in."

Before he had time to process the movement, Ianto had moved her to the new sofa, speaking softly to her in her native German before starting to make the coffee. He'd known Ianto had taken German for some time, but didn't know he was so fluent. _Maybe I ought to get him to teach me some_, Jack mused, thinking back to that moment. _We've got time_.

Jack had been surprised that Daria had known how to shoot and clean most of their guns, and showed a flair for rifles. "My father taught me to shoot," she had explained calmly, "because he was a fan of hunting. I had no stomach for that, so I just practiced in a shooting gallery." This had freaked Jack out a little more than he let on, so he told her sternly that in no circumstances should she tase anyone on the head, if she had to use a taser. Ianto had hidden a laugh behind his hand at the memory.

It was decided that Daria should go on field missions, mainly for Gwen's benefit. She was fit for field missions, anyway, and it would be useful to have their medic at hand out on, well, the field. Charlton – _Charlie_, Jack corrected himself mentally – smiled serenely when they suggested he should man the Hub; "It's probably sensible to have someone here," he'd said, "to coordinate everything. No offence, but the immediate impression I get from Torchwood is _disorder_." He glanced at Ianto, "Apart from him, but he's just immaculate all the time." Jack couldn't help thinking Ianto had looked a little smug at that statement.

Coming back to the present, Jack blinked, and began again, "Right. We need a team building exercise so we can get to know each other properly," he paused, as Ianto's hand went straight up, "Ianto?"

"Sir, if it's all the same, can we avoid the countryside?"

* * *

They ended up, for lack of a better option, getting pissed in a corner of the usual pub. Charlton noted small details about his colleagues as the evening went on. There were the things they told each other voluntarily, which were interesting enough, but it was the way that they interacted that most interested him; at his side, he could see Daria doing a similar thing.

It was the way Ianto at first declined a drink, saying cryptically to Jack, "I don't know whether they reinforced my liver – I'd rather not risk it." Charlton neither knew nor really wanted to know what that meant, but it was intriguing nevertheless. Eventually he succumbed to a small Jack and Coke, but nursed it for quite some time. He knew there was something different, something deceptively dangerous about the Welshman, but couldn't place it; only the fact that Ianto seemed a little more alien than the rest of them, Jack excepting.

Jack himself had a beer, but drank it unenthusiastically, as if it was just a front, and he was bored by drinking. Charlton wondered idly how old Harkness was; he seemed young, but there was a carefulness in his eyes that suggested advanced age. Torchwood was an organization dealing with strange things, it would only make sense to have some strange things within the organization.

The pair of them were clearly together. Well, he'd learned that the hard way, seeing them making out enthusiastically late one night in Jack's office, but had decided to ignore it; it seemed only polite. But there was something off, at the moment; the way they aligned themselves around each other was as if they were connected by invisible strings, but Charlton thought maybe there was a bit of pulling at the strings, a discomfort. As if something bad had happened to them, and they weren't quite comfortable again.

Gwen, being pregnant, didn't drink. However, she was a friendly, lively presence, somehow drawing everyone together. He liked her a lot, and her husband Rhys seemed like a nice guy too, once he'd arrived from his work at Harwoods. It impressed Charlton how a woman so involved with saving the world and aliens could be so normal, so grounded. He supposed that was why they'd hired her – to keep them linked to the normal world, so one of them could be happy.

Jack and Ianto seemed happy, but there was guilt in Harkness' eyes and sadness in Ianto's that he couldn't pinpoint the causes of. Ianto caught his eye at one point, with a small smile, as if he'd overheard Charlton's thoughts. Charlton gave a brief flash of a grin, taking a sip of his scotch (on the rocks), before turning to Daria as he listened to her telling them about herself.

She had a younger brother, Walter, in Germany, and a mother and father. She was Jewish, firm but reform, and was dating PC Andy. She seemed relaxed around her new colleagues, and got along well with everyone. Charlton noted she was drinking a white wine spritzer – _doesn't like red_, he guessed, amused by her extroversion, and the pale, barely raised scars across her knuckles where she'd fought off army officers with her bare fists. The shadow across her cheekbone was completely gone, but the pale scar across her lips remained; an officer must have been wearing a ring, or hit her with his gun.

Ianto had a scar, too. Just along his cheek, healed, a shade lighter than his normal skin tone. _He's a handsome guy,_ Charlton mused, _and a similar age to me_. A lewd though briefly flickered across his brain, which even surprised him, and he dismissed it . He and Jack were _very_ physically involved, if the barely-concealed lovebite on the join between Jack's neck and shoulder was anything to go by. Noticing Charlton's scrutiny, Jack looked questioning; Charlton touched his own neck in the place where the lovebite was, and mimicked adjusting the collar of his shirt. Jack grinned in response, flicking his collar open more. Ianto blushed, across his cheekbones, and Charlton toasted them with a grin in reply.

People-watching was his way of keeping control, and remembering key things that had made people themselves. Even now, years separating him and his biological family, Charlton could still remember the smell of his mother's perfume, and the faint lines across his father's forehead – signs of a life well-lived. He could remember his sister's slightly crooked teeth; you wouldn't notice unless you really looked, but her front teeth were ever-so-slightly crossed over. He could remember the warmth and comfort of his home, and while he missed them desperately, remembering all of these tiny things helped him feel less like they were gone.

_I really do read too many body language books_, he mused, taking a deep pull of his scotch, and joining in, ignorant to the pensive look on Ianto's face as he studied Charlton, too.

* * *

The night was over, and everyone had headed home, apart from them.

They were taking the long way back to wherever they were going, that much Ianto could tell; they both had their hands in the pockets of their coats, and Jack was walking slowly, as if deliberating on something he wanted to say.

"Just say it, Jack. Whatever's on your mind, _say it_," he said, looking at Jack with a small, slow quirk of his lips.

Jack looked up at him, blue eyes honest, "I think we should tell them about our…_conditions_."

This brought a small frown to Ianto's face, "Why? It wouldn't affect anything, would it?"

"I just think that Charlton is quick on the uptake. He's meticulous – he studies everything carefully. Makes him remarkable on computers, and even more remarkable at reading people. He knows something is different about us," Jack said, quietly, "and I think if we're gonna do this 'new team' thing properly, we need to trust each other. It was my secrets that got you and Tosh and Owen killed. We can't have that again."

Ianto thought back over the evening; it was true that Charlton was extremely good at deciphering body language. Once or twice Ianto had caught snatches of his thoughts; once it was about him, and once about him and Jack. Both thoughts had been beginnings of speculation – about whether Ianto was human and how old Jack really was, and about the strange discomfort he and Jack felt towards each other. He gulped.

"I think you might be right. He's got a brilliant mind," he noticed Jack's questioning look, and went on, "in that I can hear him sometimes, he thinks so much. I caught a few things about me and you, and then –" here he paused, thinking back, "– another thing. It's a compulsion, for him. Natural. Reading people is just what he immediately does."

He idly wished he could read Jack; maybe then he would know where they were headed, the Hub or his flat. There was something personal about Jack coming to his flat that he wanted desperately to explore. Jack had never come round to his – well, that was a lie, he'd come to his door once after Lisa to check on him during his suspension. But he had never stayed over. Maybe because Ianto had never had the stones to invite him.

"Ianto…" Jack started, seemingly realizing they were nearing the point where they would have to decide where to go, "Could I…I mean, I don't want to _intrude_, but…"

Ianto cut him off with a kiss, linking Jack's hands with his, before pulling back and saying simply, "Yes."

He lead him back to his flat, and opened the door one-handed, keeping one hand clutched to Jack's. There had been something so fragile about Jack before that it felt like the only thing keeping his lover – his _friend_ – together.

His flat was cold; he'd left the heating off. The place was methodically tidy, and looked barely lived in, apart from the slightly worn sofa and a DVD box set – _Heroes_ – sat on the coffee table. Ianto watched Jack explore his home as he turned the thermostat up, and smiled as Jack grinned at the huge coffee machine, taking pride of place in his kitchen. Jack murmured something that sounded like, "I should've known…" before moving on to browse Ianto's organized DVD and CD collection.

He took Jack greatcoat from where he'd left it hanging over the back of the sofa and hung it on his coat stand, dusting it off fondly. It looked at home there – strange how Jack could make a place his simply by being there.

They didn't have sex that night, as much as Ianto wanted to. They slept together, but just as two people wrapped around each other for warmth and contact, asleep. Ianto woke once in the night to find Jack's head on his chest, breath faintly whuffling in and out in slumber. He'd always known Jack slept, but had never found proof until now.

And somehow, seeing him there, totally open and totally vulnerable, made Ianto's heart ache peculiarly, as if they were both human again.


	19. Northern Downpour

_A/N: Hello all, we're nearly at the 100th reviewer. (: Exactly 99 reviews thus far, whey-hey! I never expected this to get up to 100, honestly, so I want to say a huge thank you to everyone who has ever reviewed this, especially repeat reviewers. It really makes my day that something that started as a hobby has gotten fairly popular. I've been listening to a lot of musicals recently - I'm totally obsessed - and I am so tempted to name this after 'Come What May' from the Ewan McGregor Moulin Rouge. But I can't, I have to save that for the next one. This is named after 'Northern Downpour' by Panic! At The Disco, in light of the recent snow. Believe me, the next chapter will be a treat - it will feature PC Andy, Rhys and KARAOKE. Not sure how yet, but I promise IT WILL. Also, another note on End Of Time Part II (I'll make it cryptic so people who haven't seen it won't be spoilered): ALONSO? REALLY?! I heart him in Being Human, but as Alonso he looks about twelve. Just...no. Anyways, enough of me. Enjoy.  
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* * *

Eyes open.

Glance at clock. 4 am.

Early again. _Ah, well._

Get up.

It was disconcerting, waking up so early. She'd been doing so for several weeks now, since she joined Torchwood, and couldn't figure out why. Maybe it was just the job. Maybe it was just her. Who could tell?

Regardless, Daria sloughed off the heavy duvet and stretched, hearing her spine click into an upright posture, along with her shoulders and elbows. As she stood, her knees clicked too. Wincing, she laughed nervously. Just how cold was it in her flat, anyways?

Walking calmly through to the kitchen, wrapped up in her huge pyjamas, she turned up the thermostat, rubbing her hands together as she drifted to the kettle, setting it whistling as it boiled water. _Today feels like a loose-leaf tea day,_ she mused idly as she dug out her token teapot and container of loose Darjeeling. _Now where did I put the tea-strainer?_

Daria squeaked and muttered a curse as her phone beeped impatiently from the countertop, contrasted with the unpleasant sound of vibrations against faux-marble. She scrambled for it, flicking onto the new message.

It was, surprisingly, a colleague. Ianto, specifically. The message read simply, _'Are you awake?'_. Being the medic of the Torchwood team, Daria had known Ianto suffered from erratic bouts of insomnia, and had known – reading his files, which seemed somewhat…_abridged_ – that he was in peak physical condition. His insomnia, it seemed, linked back to previous traumatic experiences; not surprising, considering one of them had been Canary Wharf; the event everyone tried to forget.

The file had been written in another's clinical hand, a strangely neat print; she guessed it was the previous medic's, Dr. Owen Harper. The notes on stressful experiences were very carefully impartial, but when she'd read them, she saw the words were scratched into the page fiercely, as if in anger. She wondered at how small the file was, and how most of it was concerned with his mental condition – Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder and depression were the highlights.

With a sigh, she texted back a brief but friendly, _'Yes, why? x'_ and began opening the curtains of her flat tiredly. Light flooded the open-plan space, reflected off of the white, snow-filled clouds and the landscape, covered in a thick coat of the stuff. Daria smiled briefly; even now, the idea of a 'snow day' sent a tiny thrill through her, reminiscent of childhood.

Glancing in the mirror, she grinned, and attempted to flatten her hair. As if on cue, the kettle whistled, closely followed by a buzz at her door. _Probably best to answer the door first_, Daria thought, _especially at this hour_. Looking at the small screen showing who wanted to get in, she was surprised to see a sheepish-looking Ianto stood on the front porch, blowing at his hands to keep them warm. He was as immaculately dressed as usual, and looked straight into the lense, with a small smile, as if he could see her.

Wordlessly, she picked up the phone, and said, "Ianto?"

"Daria. May I come in?"

"Of course…"

She pressed the button to unlock the door, and, watching as Ianto gave a small smile as he entered, put the phone down, waiting to answer the knock at her door.

Sure enough, there it was, and she opened the door with a smile, "Come in, Ianto. I just got up." The Welshman smiled politely and entered, and she shut the door behind him. As he passed, she smelt a familiar smell on him – Jack. Silently, she wondered why Ianto was here.

"I'm making tea," she said blithely, and at Ianto's somewhat questioning look, she smiled, "I drink tea at home, and coffee at Torchwood. I can make a decent cup of tea, but my coffee is appalling compared to yours."

Ianto hummed appreciatively as he eyed the teapot, quietly stewing in the corner, "Well, you do it properly. What type is it?"

"Darjeeling," Daria replied, with a smile, "I'm trying new things."

She put the teapot onto a tray with the strainer, milk jug, cut lemon and sugar bowl, and carried it carefully to her dining table, gesturing with a nod of her head for him to sit. He took off his coat and jacket and hung them on her otherwise unused coat hooks before he sat.

Thankful she'd put a bra on, she ran back to the kitchen and got two teacups and saucers from a tea-set she'd gotten for her sixteenth birthday, and set one in front of Ianto, "Do help yourself. Can I get you anything for breakfast?" He shook his head, "God, no. Food doesn't sit well with me this early." Daria smiled, "Me neither."

As Ianto poured himself some tea expertly, she studied his face for signs of distress. He looked tired, certainly, and had seen Jack recently – the smell clung to him like a second skin. There was a quiet reservation about him, as if something was weighing on his mind, and he was trying to figure out just how to say it. Suddenly, he got up, searching in the inside pocket of his jacket, until he retrieved a paper file, and handed it to her.

"I daresay you noticed that my medical file was incomplete," he said, as Daria flipped it open, reading its contents, "and so I thought I should complete it. Jack won't like it, but he'll just have to deal with it."

Well. It was expansive, she had to admit. Ianto sat quietly, adding lemon to his tea and nothing else, and waiting for it to cool – such a normal thing to do, for someone who was so very…_unusual_. There was a date of death here, and she guessed (judging by the very _alive_ archivist sitting opposite her) that _that_ condition had not lasted long. He'd died on the day she'd seen Andy fighting the army, from a deadly virus. She gasped quietly – _so he's one of the casualties of Thames House!_

Daria turned over silently, reading on. An organization, unnamed but based somewhere called the Basement, had revived him. He could heal supremely quickly, he was faster and stronger than any human, and his biology was not entirely human anymore. Ianto would not age, nor could he die – or at least, he couldn't die _easily_. She glanced up at him, and saw him carefully measuring her reaction. She looked down again to avoid his searching gaze.

This answered some questions, but brought up many more. Why Ianto? Who were these people? How had this affected Ianto's mind? _It doesn't feel like the right time to ask any of those questions_, she mused, eying his white-knuckle grip on the tea-cup handle. Silently, she put her cold hand on his startlingly warm one, and he loosened his grip. _May as well go with an unrelated question_, she smiled.

"Why doesn't Jack have a medical history?" Daria asked, pouring herself some tea and adding milk and a teaspoon of sugar, and stirring it slowly. Ianto raised his eyebrow.

"That's what you want to know?"

She sighed, placing the spoon back on the tray and cupping her hands around her drink to warm them, "Ianto, I'm just glad I have your medical record. It's not my place to ask questions unless they're necessary. None of mine are relevant to your health, so I didn't ask them. Simple," she finished, sipping her tea. _Damn, I'm good._

Ianto let out a breath that he seemed to have been holding for some time, "You are a freak of nature. Why didn't you ask Jack about his file?"

"I did. He…what's the word…_blanked_ me."

This drew a laugh from the Welshman, "That doesn't surprise me. Well, Daria," he began, slowly, "Jack isn't from…around here. Like Charlton, except from the future. 51st century, to be exact. And he met his man – _The Doctor _– and somehow, I forget _how_, Jack got revived from death. Only the girl who did it – Rose, her name was – filled him up with too much life. So now, he can't die. He can be killed, but he doesn't stay _dead_," here Ianto took a breath, sipping at his tea, "hence the lack of medical history. If we filled out every time he died, his file would take up whole cabinets."

Daria guessed her expression probably embodied complete awe and shock, "Oh, _wow_."

Ianto nodded, and she smiled; he seemed to now be a strange, light creature now that this was off his chest, so she risked asking him another question, "What does Jack think of us, honestly? He seems…" She tried to put it into words, and came up with nothing, "…the only way I can put it is as if he's already lost us. Like he's still sad about something else that happened and he's just getting sadder now that Charlton and I have joined the team."

The young man opposite her frowned, a slight wrinkle appearing in between his brows. He took a long time to figure out his answer, before finally saying slowly, "He thinks that you're both fantastic. Really brilliant. He'd love to consider you two friends, but he's afraid that if he does, that will set off some automatic trigger that gets both of you killed. He's scared to be back at that place, having to find more people to replace you. Now," he finished, draining his cup, "let's go and get Charlton. I think I need to tell him all of this, too, and I need back-up. I think a trip to McDonald's for a breakfast bagel is in order."

Daria grinned, standing, "Give me a second to spray some dry shampoo in my hair and get dressed, and I'll meet you at the door."

* * *

Charlton had never been so thankful for being dressed early than when he received a knock on the door straight after, and came face to face with Ianto Jones and Daria Morris.

"Breakfast?" Ianto questioned with that small quirk of the lips Charlton was starting to like a _whole lot_.

_Fuck_, he thought. _No. Don't think that way about the guy. He's your boss'…whatever they are_. It was funny, really; Charlton was a liberal guy, definitely. It was hard not to be, when one day you just appear in the year 2000, and everything is different. But generally, he didn't feel a whole lot towards guys. Or for that matter, girls. He'd mainly kept to himself – had a few steady girlfriends, but no one stuck around. The mix of old and new things in his life was generally too much to understand.

However, there was this…_tug,_ in the pit of his stomach, when he appraised Ianto, and watched Ianto appraise him. Likely Ianto was just taking in his outfit – black chinos, black t-shirt, standard black and white Converse – but even if he didn't have some strange fascination with Ianto, there was something very nice about the fluid lines of Ianto's suits. In a very _manly_ sort of way, obviously.

He ran a hand through his wayward curls, "Thank you. I'd like that," and pulled on a black hoodie and black blazer. At the pair's questioning looks, he shrugged, "I like to wear black. It's a colour that's always the same, always 'fashionable', no matter what place – or _time_ – you're in." Charlton tried to ignore the pensive look Ianto gave him – it made him feel strange.

They ended up in a McDonalds – he liked McDonalds early in the morning, because a) the breakfast menu was _awesome_, and b) it was the first 21st century place his adoptive mother had taken him to. McDonalds held many happy memories for him.

So as he settled into his Tropicana and Oats-So-Simple, and watched Daria hurl hash browns into her mouth, he was fairly surprised to hear that Ianto was effectively immortal. And that Jack was too, but in a different way – the character Ianto had described, The Doctor, was what most interested him.

"Have you met him? The Doctor?" he questioned, stirring his porridge, "I know he didn't make Jack the way he is, but he sounds like…an interesting character."

"A couple of times," Ianto commented, looking into Charlton's eyes unreservedly, "The first time, we weren't on great terms, but the second time, we were. You're about right with the 'interesting character' description – I've never met anyone like him."

Charlton snorted, "That's Torchwood, though, isn't it?"

Suddenly a shadow fell over their booth. He looked up, to take in Jack standing there, staring resolutely at Ianto. Ianto stared resolutely back. Jack pouted, "You_ told!_"

"Yes. Yes I did," replied Ianto, taking a bite out of a hash brown, "And?"

"But we said we were going to do it _together!_" Jack said, sliding into the seat next to Ianto and taking the hash brown from his hand, biting into it before handing it back, "And also, you totally ditched me. Not that I didn't like the little note you left," he leered, and a small blush sprung up on Ianto's neck, "_that_ was fine."

A thousand different ideas as to what the note was ran through Charlton's mind at once. Ianto looked sharply at him as if he'd overheard, but he brushed it off. There was no way Ianto could have known. That was when Ianto said, so quietly under his breath that he could only just hear it, "You'd think so."

And Charlton silently had an internal freak-out.

To cover up his inner turmoil, he smiled at Jack, "I don't really see why this is such a problem. Daria and I knowing, that is. We're hardly going to tell anyone. All that mattered to Daria was that the medical records were accounted for," here Daria grunted an affirmative response, around her mouthful of quarter-pounder, "and frankly it doesn't change my job either way. Though I'd like to know about the Doctor, and that blue box of his."

Somewhere in the back of his mind, a distant memory stirred from the day he'd disappeared. A blue box on a corner – unusual, but disregarded. Then a flash of light, and quietly, a bizarre siren, like scraping a violin's bow across piano wires.

He blinked, and saw Jack was staring at him again, "Is it important that you know about him?"

"Maybe. I don't really know," Charlton replied, offhandedly, choosing to back away from the subject, shrinking into himself, "whether anything can explain what happened to me. I'll consider anything."

And there was that look again, from Ianto. That considering, weighty look. He shifted uncomfortably, and looked forward to the solitude of his desk job.


	20. Unchained Melody

_A/N: So here's a new chapter. I promised you some Rhys and Andy - well, there's a hell of a lot of Andy in this. I really enjoyed writing his point of view. He's such an unexplored character that I think there's so much you can do with him. I also promised karaoke, and it's less about the songs and more about the effect of them. You only get to see one person sing, in detail. (: Sorry. There is not so much Rhys-POV - it didn't fit with the tone of the chapter, so that'll be a future thing. This is a development chapter more than an eventful one. The real story begins next chapter. Anyways, one last thing; I have another Torchwood fic, which is a collection of poems. Only 3 so far, it's the one called 'Understanding'. I'd love if you guys would tell me what you think, because I'm thinking of dropping the poetry, but I'm not sure. Thanks if you do. Enjoy the chapter!  
_

* * *

So there was Gwen Cooper, at first. His partner in arms, for a while, when they were both regular police-constables and nothing more. She was a beautiful woman, but unattainable. Because of the boyfriend; because of Rhys.

Now, it wasn't that Andy didn't like Rhys. He did, truly – Rhys was a decent, solid bloke, and they went to the rugby together from time to time. It was the same easy camaraderie that most men felt towards each other; friendly, but nothing more.

He thought he'd stood a chance with Gwen, despite his budding friendship with Rhys. He wasn't great with words, but when Gwen and he were patrolling, casual banter and jokes, his stomach got a strange light feeling when she looked at him with those big green eyes.

But she married Rhys, and he decided that maybe her friendship was enough. And somehow, it was.

He'd met her team, the Torchwood lot. He was pretty desperate to join up with them, but apparently 'nothing could be done'. She was chosen by them, and he wasn't. Well, he didn't mind so much, but his best mate had gone and buggered off with some special-ops group, leaving him on his own, so he minded a little.

There was the American, Jack Harkness. Andy felt something vaguely resembling admiration for him; any bloke who could look so cool while in a rainy, bloody alley had his respect, to be honest, despite his arrogance. And there was his counterpart, Ianto Jones. Immaculate constantly, almost to the point of irritating Andy. If Ianto wasn't such a decent guy, and if they hadn't kept each other company in the past, when Andy was monitoring a police line and Ianto was clearing up after another Torchwood case, he probably wouldn't have liked Ianto. But he did. And that was fine.

There was the doctor. Owen, his name was. Honestly Andy hadn't given him a lot of thought – his sarcasm was likeable, at least to Andy, but he did think the bloke needed to slow down a bit with the drinking and shagging. Or maybe he was just jealous that he couldn't do that, he was too busy being a policeman. Then Owen did slow down, eventually, but that was only because he was dead. He hadn't been told Owen was dead, but seeing the medic running into the pier and staying underwater for an impossible amount of time, he guessed something was different. Deep down, he just sort of knew. And then Owen was properly dead, literally no more, and despite not really knowing him very well, Andy still felt a strange twinge in his gut when he found out he was gone.

There was Tosh. _Smart girl_, he guessed, mainly from her wearing glasses and running around with various weird pieces of technology he didn't recognize. She was a beautiful woman, actually – if she wasn't so very Torchwood, he might have asked her out. Oh, and if she didn't send longing glances the medic's way every so often. From time to time, he ran into her in the bookshop, and they exchanged friendly smiles, and chatted for a while about boring things going on in their lives. Honestly, it crushed him when she died, too. Like another bit of sunshine was gone from Cardiff.

He'd gone out with a few girls a few times but never really held a steady girlfriend down. Too busy, too wrapped up in his own life. Maybe he just wasn't ready for a real relationship yet – he was only in his twenties, after all. But one day, when he was down in the estate patrolling, he saw the army pulling up and taking kids.

And he saw Johnny Davies fighting them.

At first he wondered what to do. At first the choice was difficult. But suddenly, it was very clear what Andy's place was in the world at that moment, and he pulled off his police jacket, hat and bulletproof vest, and started helping.

So there was Gwen Cooper, at first. And then there was Daria. Beautiful, demented Daria, sloughing off her doctor's uniform and laying into army men. Daria, battered and bruised but still grinning through her swollen face enough to spark something long buried in his heart.

"Hi," she'd said afterwards, "I'm Daria."

"I'm Andy," he replied, "Daria, can I buy you a drink?"

She was an emergency doctor at the A&E service, from Germany originally. When asked if she liked rugby, she'd given the best reply ever: "Fuck yes."

They'd gotten pretty happily drunk, sitting together watching the news as the children were returned and the government was overthrown. And maybe because the alcohol had numbed his brain, maybe because it had nearly been the end of the world, he asked her if she wanted to go back to his. And maybe for the same reasons, she said yes.

It ended up being clumsy, ripping off clothes and tripping over books, but amazing. Really. And afterwards, lying there with this beautiful woman in his arms, Andy wondered how he'd gotten this lucky – pardon the pun.

And when she was still there in the morning, still sneaking in quips like it was still the night before ("You realize you have to take me on a proper date next time, Andy."), he could only grin. Because maybe the end of the world was okay, as long as Daria stuck around.

That brought him to now. Finding out all at once that she was now a member of Torchwood, and wondering if this was it, for them. They'd been on three dates and ended up in bed every time, and he'd been wondering when his luck would run out. When she would turn into another Gwen Cooper.

Then she asked him to move in with her. And that caught him off-guard, to be honest. Completely. Because isn't the guy meant to ask the girl? Then he realized that their relationship had never followed the typical path, so he smiled.

"Well…it's been a while since Torchwood interfered with my life…so why not?"

Daria smiled that dimpled smile, and put her arm around his waist, squeezing lightly. Andy pressed a kiss into her hair, and hoped that this was the right thing for them.

* * *

"You what?!" Jack squeaked, when Daria came into his office, announcing something very serious.

"I told my significant other who I'm working for," she said, rolling her eyes. He didn't prey on that, he'd made her repeat it three times, but it just wasn't sinking in, "You do remember who I'm dating, Jack? Andy Davidson?"

Oh. Right. _Him_.

"Jack?" Oh, god, here was the other one. Gwen entered his office, "I really don't see why this should be a problem. Rhys knows, so if Andy freaks out, he can talk to him."

Jack laughed, "No offence, Gwen, but he's hardly gonna calm the guy down. Again, no offence. But this is Rhys."

Gwen bristled but carried on regardless, "Plus, Jack, Andy knows about Torchwood. He keeps Ianto company when he's on clean up, and he goes to the rugger with Rhys on the weekends. I'm sure he can cope."

Suddenly, Jack was struck by a brilliant idea. The brilliance of which blinded him completely from seeing the expression on Gwen's face as she recognized the expression on his, "Oh, _no_, Jack. Not_ that_. _Anything_ but that."

But this was too good an opportunity to pass up. Jack flounced – yes, _flounced_ – from his office, standing on the balcony and looking at his colleagues with a huge, cheese-eating grin. Ianto glanced up, and met his gaze; judging by his look of horror, he could hear what Jack was thinking. Not that he'd need to, he could probably tell from his face.

"Oh, god. Jack, no. Tell me you're not thinking of _that_."

"Oh yes, Ianto, I most certainly am!"

Running down the stairs, Jack raised his arms above his head, shouting, _"I feel a song coming on!"_ He heard Gwen and Ianto groan, and pouted, "Well, for those new to this tradition, let me explain the loving reactions you see here. Daria has told a civilian about us, and while said civilian already knew about us, he needs induction. Into the secret club of those who know about Torchwood – "

" – composed of thousands within Cardiff," Ianto quipped, with a sigh.

"_Tschh_. Details, schmetails. So, team…we are having the Torchwood Team Karaoke Party! And as the senior member of the team, I expect _all of you_ – and Andy and Rhys – to perform a song. Because you need to prove yourselves."

Ianto raised his hand. Jack sighed despairingly, "What cutting remark do you have for me now, Ianto?"

"Sir, with all due respect, haven't Gwen and I proven ourselves already?"

"That's what you think, Ianto…that's what you think…" Jack trailed off, with an evil laugh, "Now, everyone get preparing. And wear a costume. It's tonight, at 10. Get it sorted."

And he retreated to his office before the team could object. Ah, sweet power. Sometimes it had its perks.

* * *

"Remind me again why we're going along with Harkness' hair-brained scheme, again," Rhys asked Gwen, with a sigh, letting her style his hair into a greasy pompadour. He swore Gwen enjoyed this, or something – she'd picked out their costumes with something akin to mischievous joy. He had nothing against Grease, just the fact that this was the fifth time they'd had to do one of Jack's karaoke evenings during Gwen's tenure at Torchwood, and it was getting old.

"Now, now," she said, with a smile, "Don't complain. You make a very good Danny. At least your costume isn't bloody ironic…"

Rhys snorted, smiling at his wife, "We'll just say we're Danny and Sandy, ten years on. What song are you going to force me to do?"

"Well, it's either gotta be 'Summer Nights', 'You're The One That I Want' or 'All Choked Up'," Gwen grinned, adjusting her blonde wig so that it fit better, and pulling her tight black top over her pronounced bump, "Either way you're gonna have to hold me up, these heels are killing me."

Rhys smiled, and pulled her into a kiss. She was bloody mad, really, but he supposed that was Torchwood, really. At least Andy would be there, poor bugger. Trust him to get involved with a Torchwood girl, too.

The pair pulled apart, and with twin grins headed for their car.

* * *

"I can't believe I'm doing this."

Andy stood in front of her, despairing. Not only that, but he was dressed as Christian from Moulin Rouge. It was very romantic, really, as they'd watched in on the TV after their first night together, but he looked so hangdog she couldn't help but laugh a little.

"Come on, Andy. It won't be so bad. Even if you don't know the words to 'Come What May', there's going to be a little screen with them on it," Daria said, taking his hands in hers and flicking back the red hair of her wig, "It's…what's the word? Oh yeah, _initiation_. Because you're a Torchwood partner."

He smiled wryly, "I like the word 'partner'. More fitting than boyfriend, we're a little past that, aren't we? Oh, don't worry, I know the words. Freakishly good memory, me. I could do 'Elephant Love Medley' if you'd rather."

"I think 'Come What May' is more poetic considering the circumstances we find ourselves in," she laughed, kissing his cheek and laughing at the deep red lip-print left there. When he went to wipe it off, she stopped him, "Leave it. It's appropriate."

Andy sighed, and she itched to smooth out the lines of tension in his forehead with her lips, "I can't believe I'm doing this."

She squeezed his hands, "We're in this together. Come what may."

* * *

"I think we're brilliant, frankly," Jack grinned, looking at Ianto smugly. Ianto looked at him sternly, "Better stop grinning like that, Jack. Jones Ianto Jones does not grin like a moron."

So rather than rent costumes, they'd gone for the easy option. Switch clothes and go as each other. Which, actually, had worked out rather well for Jack…they'd had a lot of fun in the process. Sobering up, and checking his hair, Jack grinned again despite himself, "I am beginning to like the look of you in my clothes, Ianto."

Suddenly arms were slipping around his waist and he was sure _someone_ had just pinched his ass.

"I'm sure you don't like me in them as much as you like me out of them," Ianto husked, and Jack leaned back temporarily, before he laughed, looking at them in the mirror.

"My god, the clothes control us. I could've sworn it's usually the other way around."

Ianto grinned, and Jack was startled by how similar it was to his own typical grin, "Well, let's just say I'm getting into character." He ended on a Midwestern accent akin to Jack's own, and Jack turned, putting his hands places they shouldn't really be right now but Ianto liked to too much to complain.

"I've still got our stopwatch," Jack smirked in a Welsh accent.

The sirens of the Hub door opening blared noisily, and Gwen, Rhys, Andy and Daria trailed through. Jack and Ianto took their time detaching themselves from each other, and headed out of his office.

"Well hello kids," Ianto boomed, hands on his hips like Jack, "Don't you all look lovely?"

Jack kept to his role very well; he rolled his eyes minutely before asking in a soft Welsh voice, "Can I get anyone coffee?"

At first no one noticed the change – in fact, Gwen looked as though she was going to ask why they weren't wearing costumes, until she realized her mistake and shrieked, "My God, that's brilliant!"

As if on cue, Charlton walked through the Hub door, dressed somewhat fittingly as Sherlock Holmes. He glanced around, and looked intently at Ianto, before smiling and shaking his head.

"You're mad," he said, and something about the way he said it made Ianto blush.

"Well," Jack said, back to himself despite being in Ianto's clothes, "Shall we get started?"

* * *

He made his way over to Ianto after a while, while Gwen and Rhys were singing 'You're The One That I Want' (surprisingly well).

"So has Torchwood always been this talented," Charlton questioned, "or is it just this year?" There was something in Charlton's coy smile that set Ianto's nerve endings tingling. He ignored it.

"Well, I haven't heard you sing, yet," Ianto replied, quirking his lip in a half-smile, "so I don't know, really."

Charlton seemed to mull this over for some time, so Ianto took the time to study him. There was something missing in his gaze, some trace of warmth – not surprising, considering his circumstances. He was a good-looking guy, too, and Ianto felt strangely attached to him already. It was the way he couldn't bring himself to look at guns, let alone use them, and the comforting sound of his voice down the comms when they were out on field work and Charlton was being their eyes.

It made him feel not so freaked out by his life, really. The fact that this guy, transported from years in the past, could adjust, could be _normal_. It made Ianto wonder if he could get used to his new body and life. Then again, maybe not.

"I'll sing once those two are finished," Charlton said, with a smile, "though I'm not happy about it. I'd like to hear you sing, too, if I have to."

With that, Charlton waved minutely and headed over to the makeshift stage, and made his selection. The first strains of 'Unchained Melody' filtered out of the sound system, and Ianto knew he was beaten. There was something about Charlton's voice that seemed so fitting with the song that he found it very hard to believe anyone could do a better job; no one else would be able to make his chest seize up and his breath catch in his throat the way they did when Charlton started to sing.

Jack had a wonderful voice, and at times the sadness in his singing was so obvious that it made Ianto's heart ache with love and sympathy. But the simple melancholy of Charlton's voice contrasted sharply – there was sadness there, but not sadness at his life as it was. It was like nostalgia for something he'd lost a long time ago – something long buried. Like a child that gets rid of a toy they think they're over but miss when it's gone. But it was not hopeless. Far from it. There was an expression on their technical expert's face that made Ianto smile – he sang the song so hopefully it made him think that maybe he'd like to get to know Charlton a little better. That maybe this was a guy he could be friends with.

He met Jack's gaze across the room, and felt strangely warm under the intensity of his gaze. He wondered what Jack was thinking – not for the first time, Ianto wished Jack would think loudly more often. Jack's mind generally gave him nothing but radio static.

Glancing back at Charlton, he tried to listen for his thoughts, and then thought maybe he didn't have to.

* * *

_A/N: Muahahaha. Ahem. Sorry._


	21. Close To Me

_A/N: A slight lack of Jack, Gwen and Daria in this chapter, and heavy lack of Andy and Rhys. I promise they'll be back next chapter for more intrigue, as you're all calling it. (: There is a lot of Ianto, Charlton, Learner and Catherine, however, and I think a lot of you will be happy to find that your hunches have been correct. In terms of speculation and picking up on hints, you guys are SPOT ON. (; For anyone who is interested, in my TW poetry collection 'Understanding', chapter 4 is a little added bit of development of Charlton. I'll be doing little added things every so often, so I'll tell you when there's a bonus bit of poetry linked to current goings-on. Anyways. Yes. This one is named after 'Close To Me' by The Cure; believe me, it's fitting. Enjoy the chapter, and please do review, you guys make my day.  
_

* * *

The Rift readings started getting strange on a Wednesday afternoon. It was a huge spike in Rift activity, and by the time Jack, Gwen, Ianto and Daria had gotten there, there was nothing left except a patch of scorched ground and a smell of burning in the air.

They kept a constant tab on Rift readings after that – during the day Charlton looked after it, and during the night Ianto and Jack took turns, while one of them slept. Well, Jack insisted he didn't sleep, but Ianto had spotted him snoozing in his office, head rested on his hands.

It was funny, in a way, that Charlton and Daria had settled in so quickly to the routine of Torchwood missions, when this was the beginning of their first one. The second Rift spike happened during the early hours of the following Wednesday, and when they were called – Charlton into work, and Daria to the field – they were both in pyjamas, with heavy overcoats on top. Upon returning to the Hub at 4 am, the story having repeated itself _(scorched earth, smell of burning)_, Charlton had already set up a map of Wales on a corkboard, and stuck pins into it where the spikes had occurred.

Ianto watched with an amused expression as Daria and Charlton both headed to their lockers to retrieve the emergency clothes they kept there – a warm, purple wrap dress, thick tights and heeled boots for Daria, and the usual medley of black for Charlton. Both went to the showers, too used to each other to bother using the gender-specific ones.

As far as they knew, Charlton and Daria attended a class together. On Thursdays they always left together, chatting amicably, clearly very comfortable with each other. Later, when Ianto asked what they went to, Daria smiled and said, "Yoga." When asked why, Charlton said, "Well, we had to get to know each other _somehow_. Just happened that we both like yoga."

The spikes started to happen more and more often as the weeks went by, until, five weeks after the first one, they happened every day. None of them slept for more than 4 hours at a time for the next week and a half and finally, on the Saturday, the good news came.

"The Rift has stabilised. I think we're in the clear, for now."

A collective groan of relief echoed through the Hub, and Jack sighed, "I've got to take a conference call with the _new_ prime minister. Ladies, go home, especially you, Gwen. You shouldn't even be coming to the field anymore. Charlton, can you just stay until my call is over, make sure the Rift is completely stable?"

He nodded, and Jack disappeared into his office, immediately picking up the phone and dialling.

Gwen smiled, packing her things with a yawn, and started waddling towards the door. Daria raised an eyebrow, "Gwen, let me give you a lift. You're too pregnant to do anything potentially stressful. I'm saying this as your doctor _and_ your friend." Looking mock-offended, Gwen held a hand to her heart, "Such harsh words, and yet so fair. Thank you, love." Daria smiled back, and the pair departed, Daria carrying Gwen's bags and saying, "Also, you have to stop doing field missions, starting from now…it's giving me panic attacks even _seeing_ you out of the Hub."

Ianto smiled as their banter faded out, but Charlton frowned as he finished putting the pins onto the map, noticing they made a perfect line. Checking with the display on his screen, he frowned deeper. Ianto quirked an eyebrow, "What is it?"

"The spikes. They ran right along the Rift, and were always the same distance apart," Charlton answered, before wrinkling his nose, "Christ, I'm tired. How long do you think he'll be?"

Glancing at the door, Ianto sighed. "God knows. It could be forever. In fact, I'll make coffee."

Standing and stretching, before leaning over to touch his toes, Charlton smiled slightly, "So am I special? Not getting to sleep?"

Ianto laughed, "Think of it as you being invaluable. And now you're just showing off."

Charlton winked, "What's right is right."

Ianto pressed a caramel macchiato into his hands, expertly made, "oh, and thank you. I can't go back to Starbucks now I've had Ianto-brand coffee."

"Always the way, always the way. Hang on, what's that?" Ianto pointed at the screen. Charlton tore himself away from his coffee and looked, frowning. All at once he'd put down his coffee and was tapping away at the keys, while Ianto leant over his shoulder, staring equally as intensely at the screen.

"Just…" Charlton started, eyes scanning the numbers scrolling past, "…a…temporary flux. I think we need to look into it…" he paused, frowning at the location of the flux, "…as it's right at the end of our trail."

He glanced up at Ianto, as if just noticing their proximity. He wondered whether Ianto was aware of the fact his veins were very clear under his skin – it was pretty, in a strange way. Ianto glanced down at him, and blushed, moving away slightly too quickly and swallowing anxiously.

"I should get the message to Jack…" He murmured, glancing over at their leader in his office, who was just putting down the phone, "Wow, that was quick…"

He excused himself, practically running up the stairs, and as soon as the Welshman had quietly entered Jack's office, Charlton sighed heavily. It was inexcusable, really, the way he silently lusted after his co-worker, especially as Ianto was with Jack. But there was something behind the archivist's eyes that suggested sadness – and Charlton could only guess at the countless reasons why.

He wondered what Daria was up to – probably just dropped off Gwen. He sighed, yawning, and to try and gain some energy, he settled down on the floor in the lotus position to do some breathing exercises. There was something nice about focusing on his breathing, and just fading away into nothingness; something that brought him closer to home.

* * *

Apparently, he fell asleep.

He woke up in the Torchwood SUV, in the passenger seat; glancing over at the driver, he was surprised to find Ianto, who looked at him with a small smile, "Hi. Hell of a thing, getting you to the car."

Shifting uncomfortably in his seat – sleeping awkwardly in the SUV had left a crick in his neck – Charlton murmured, "I'm hoping you're taking me home and not somewhere nefarious. I don't know if I could go along with that."

"Homeward bound, Charlton," Ianto wrinkled his nose, "Charlie never caught on, did it?"

"Never does, no matter where I am. I needn't bother," he replied, with a smile.

Ianto chuckled, and the sound was reassuring. Then the Welshman cleared his throat quietly, and said, "Listen, when you were asleep, you were thinking really vividly, and sometimes when people are in…I dunno, a peaceful state, maybe, I overhear them. And you might not be conscious of what you're thinking, but I want to say stop."

_Well, that was a shock. _Charlton sat up, rubbing his eyes with a deep sigh and said, "Listen, if I said…_thought_…anything that was offensive, I really didn't mean to, I assure you. My brain is a little too active. I overthink everything. What I mean to say is, whatever it was, I'm sorry."

Ianto swallowed anxiously, like he had earlier, and Charlton frowned, sensing a faux-pas, "Did I say the wrong thing? I mean, I wasn't thinking of something warranting more than an apology, was I?"

"No, nothing like that. Just…" he thought maybe Ianto was blushing, but it was hard to tell in the soft, rosy glow of the street lights, "…you know that I'm…_with_…Jack, right?"

Charlton definitely felt himself blush, "…oh."

"It's not that I'm not flattered, because I am, but…"

"What was I thinking of, Ianto? Please give me _that_ piece of information, at least."

Then, as if out of nowhere, an image formed in his head. He frowned deeper, looking at Ianto, who nodded as if to say, "That was me." His first thought at the image was _Well, at least I wasn't imagining him naked_, and then he noticed that Ianto was shifting uncomfortably, too. It was an innocent enough image. It could have just been one of those bizarre dreams where the moment he kissed Ianto, he turned into a banana. A standard mish-mash of nonsense, formed from everyday life and the realms of imagination.

But he knew it wasn't. And by the looks of it, Ianto did too. The Welshman pulled the SUV into the curb next to Charlton's house, and turned off the engine, before turning towards him with an almost…_hopeful_ expression.

It would be so easy to take advantage of this situation. Ianto seemed to know it, because he whispered, "It's not as if I'm not interested, too, but I don't even know _why_." Charlton wanted to be the guy who would take advantage, who would give a wry chuckle and sarcastically quip about Ianto getting past his_ awful _personality and _hideous _face, then give Ianto the kiss he was so obviously curious about.

His eyes were half-lidded, and his clean-shaven face was right there, and the tension in the air could be cut with a knife. Charlton licked his lips nervously, and absently thought that _Well, no one would know but us._ But that was the part he had trouble with, and then he realized he was knackered and it was almost dawn and he needed to get some sleep and Ianto needed to get back to Jack before he suspected anything and honestly, _was it worth the effort?_

Opening the car door broke the spell. The tense atmosphere of the car was sucked out into the twilight air and suddenly Charlton could think clearly. Ianto seemed to move back, too, and blinked, in a daze. His eyes seemed to temporarily cloud with disappointment, and Charlton kept frowning.

"Ianto, it's not that I don't want to. But I'm being chivalrous and possibly _stupid_ passing up this opportunity, and I just think you'd regret this," he said, in a rush, words stumbling over each other as he stumbled out of the warm SUV into the cold, his mind suddenly clear, "because what you have with Jack is special and rare and you shouldn't throw that away over _curiousity_."

Ianto cleared his throat awkwardly, with a sigh, and rubbed his tired eyes, "Yeah, I know. Sorry, I'm just…tired, you know? Eh…I'll go back to the Hub and get some sleep. And you," his eyes became eagle's eyes, sharp and piercing, "will _never_ speak of this, right? We're just two people who are very very tired who work for a very, _very_ stressful organization."

"Crystal clear," Charlton said, scooping his hoodie and blazer off the car seat and smiling briefly. He was half tempted to salute, but instead let his gaze soften, "Thanks for the lift."

Ianto drove off wordlessly, still shocked from his moment of weakness. Charlton headed into his building, and could barely remember the trip up the stairs to his apartment door. He did however remember slumping down on his bed, fully clothed, and just before he fell asleep, reading a text from Ianto which said,_ 'You get a day off tomorrow…well, today. Catch up on your sleep, or we'll both suffer.'_ He smiled absently, pulling his blankets over himself, musing that he might just be falling in love with precisely the wrong person.

Everything would be fine. As he drifted off, numbers wheeled around his head, before settling on one number – _25._

* * *

He found her in one of the changing rooms, sitting quietly on a bench, swinging her legs, staring at a piece of paper in her hands.

When she heard him coming in, she put the paper into the pocket of her shorts, and pulled her legs up, wrapping her arms around them. She rested her head on her knees, "Hi, Learner."

He hadn't seen her for two weeks, and before that he only ever saw her briefly, when they were changing shifts. Whenever he found where she was, there was only a trace scent of her in the air. That was one of the problems with both of them being so…_different_. It was too much of an equal playing field for him to be able to keep up with her, or even to predict her movements.

He stayed in his true form, and sat beside her, toying with the ripped seam of his board shorts; he noticed it was a very human gesture for an Umbreyta. He wondered whether this was nervousness. It wasn't something he had encountered before, in this form. He sighed, and with a smile, put an arm around her, careful not to hurt her with his spines, "Hi."

She seemed to shrink away from his touch, and he felt a frown come to his features, but he removed his arm from her shoulders. She winced, "Sorry. Just…I found out why I've been so…you know."

A very warm feeling began to pool in the pit of his stomach, burning unpleasantly. He thought that maybe he knew what she was going to say, but wasn't quite ready to face it yet. He studied her face instead – the fever-red cheeks under her tattooed skin, the heavy shadows under her eyes. Her eyes, he recognized, were much the same as usual; blue, tranquil. Natural. Very calming to him, as he clenched the edge of the bench with both hands.

He cleared his throat; for some reason he found it parched, "…_ah…_um, yes?"

She looked at him, expression soft, and took his hand. He felt as if he wanted to cry – she looked so young and yet so calm about this…situation. She said, in a voice nearer to a whisper, "I think you know. I think you suspected as soon as I spoke."

He swallowed, and traced the shape of her cheek, sighing at the warmth of her skin. How were they meant to handle this? She would be dead if he had just left her there, in that hospital. Dead and buried, one more light in the world gone out. 25 years would have passed and he would have _(maybe)_ forgotten the thrum he felt in his heart when he first set eyes on her, that thrum that told him _she was his_. Selfishly, he thought he had done the right thing for the both of them. But now, with her being so calm about something that would change her immeasurably, he thought maybe he should have just let her die.

Suddenly she was kissing him, and pulling away, and kissing him again, and there was wetness on her cheeks falling on his skin, and she looked him dead in the eyes and said, whisper-soft, "Don't you ever say that. You did the _right_ thing."

"How are we going to handle this, Cath?" he said, stroking her face, brushing her tangled hair back from her forehead, "How could I let this happen to you?"

Wordlessly, she put the piece of paper into his hand.

He read the results of her whole body scan carefully, looking for anything out of the ordinary. All seemed fine, in line with a normal human woman in this_…state_. He questioned, "When was your last period?"

Here, she moved her legs down from the bench, and pulled her baggy sweater up; there, between her hipbones, was a small, but very defined bump. She smiled a watery smile, "A long time ago."

He sighed, putting his face in his hands; soundlessly, he shifted into his human form, despite it being painful – he winced, thinking _I haven't been human in a while_.

He looked at her, "That's why your scent was different. God, in the back of my mind I knew, I knew this was what was wrong, but I just ignored it…" He looked into her eyes, "I wasn't ready to deal with what this means. This has happened before, my kind have _literature_ about it, but…I just never thought it would happen for us. Your body is so _different_ to other human women. I thought what the injection did to you…"

"Nope," Cath said, taking his face into her hands, "I think we can say I'm _normal_, in that regard. There's no use us fretting over this. Let's just get the literature, and figure out what we've got ahead of us, okay?"

He took one of her hands and kissed the back of it, before nodding, "Okay." She began to cry, smiling through her tears, "God…we're pregnant." He pulled her to him, and hugged her, while she stroked her stomach with one hand and wiped her eyes with the other, before hugging him back.

There was something about the way she was so calm, so different to her usual vibrant self, that made him think that maybe, this could be okay. He pressed a kiss into her her, and tried not to cry.


	22. Wake Up

_A/N: Aaaah. Bit of a slow, filler chapter here, not too much happens but I'm quite happy with the tone - I tried to bring some old Torchwood-style banter into it. :) I know people in the USA and Canada have already seen it, but here in the UK, Glee has just started, and I'm obsessed! I love every minute of it. I hope there are some Glee fans here. My favourite character is either Mr. Schuester or Kurt. I love Kurt. Poll time - if you watch Glee, who is your favourite character? Anyways, I just want to say thank you to the 21 people who have favourited this story, and the MASSIVE 47 people who have alerted it. You guys rock. I'd love to hear from you, if you haven't reviewed before, even if it's just to say hi. Enough of me, anyways. The song is 'Wake Up', by Arcade Fire, because I heart it. Enjoy the chapter!  
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* * *

The body arrived from the Basement, and garnered a remarkable amount of interest. Considering it was a corpse.

Looped around the middle toe of the deceased person's left foot was a small luggage tag; a note from Learner and Cath, simply reading, 'We did all we could and didn't find anything. Good luck.' Daria removed it, wrinkling her nose, "There ought to be some dignity in death."

They all stood around the autopsy table as Daria washed up, staring at it. Ianto seemed deep in thought, Jack seemed sad – as he always did when new bodies were brought in – and Charlton was frowning, as if looking at something in a museum, rather than a cadaver. Gwen was not present; she sat just outside of the autopsy room, viewing the whole process on a monitor. She was too far in her pregnancy to be around bodies.

The x-rays had turned up something strange – the bones of the body were all broken. From a brief examination, Daria deduced that the purple, black and blue bruises marbling the man's body were not from the bones breaking, but from beforehand – something had beaten him mercilessly, before his bones were broken.

She was professional. As were the others, admittedly, but this was her first autopsy with Torchwood, and she had no idea what she would find. Ianto, Jack and Gwen found themselves musing about mayflies, and hoping there weren't any more.

Bruised organs. Some internal bleeding, though that had long stopped. Ianto winced a few times at the sight of the man's insides; usually it was alien specimens they were dissecting, not human beings. But the Basement, in a short phone call from a terse Learner, had specified, "Do it the old-fashioned way. The heavy machinery didn't pick anything up, so go back to basics."

When the operation was done, and Daria had stored away everything, body and all, she wiped her gloves on her scrubs, and peeled them off quickly, dumping them in the toxic waste bin. While washing her hands, she commented, voice muffled by her mask, "I would get out of the room first, before you remove your mask. I'm going to run the air-cleaning system – I don't know whether he picked up anything until my samples come back."

Dutifully, Ianto, Jack and Charlton filed out, and Daria sighed, drying her hands thoroughly. She locked all of her apparatus in the sterilization chamber, before flicking the switch for the air-cleaner. The fans began to start up, whirring hugely and stirring up the air. She left quickly.

They all entered the conference room, where Jack stood at the head of the table. He looked at them all carefully, "Now, for our new kids, I know that must have been an…_interesting_ experience. But I need to tell you, if you found that…_uncomfortable_, then you need to get over it pretty quickly. Torchwood does not hire the weak. You all deserve to be here."

He looked into Ianto's eyes, as if to make a point. Ianto stared back squarely, and there was a tense moment before Jack continued.

"There will be more autopsies, you can be sure of that," he said, sternly, "because of the Rift. As long as the Rift is unstable, that is how long we will have unfortunate things like this happening. So swallow your disgust, and your fear, and the _angst_ that naturally seems to come with working for us," he sighed, eyes flicking to Gwen, whose cheeks coloured slightly, "and let's try to figure out what's happened."

Charlton raised his hand, eyebrows raised. Jack smiled, "Charlton?"

"Jack, if you don't mind, can I check my computer? Some of the diagnostic scans might have finished," he paused, smiling wickedly, "unless you want to carry on."

Jack breezed past, lightly smacking him on the back of the head as he went, causing a yelp of protest from the younger man, "Sure thing, smartass. Let's get going."

* * *

"…I swear, there is so much wrong with that body, I don't even know where to start," Gwen said, sighing, looking at her monitor. The young woman suited pregnancy; her skin practically glowed, bright green eyes twinkling behind her thick black fringe, pale face framed by her dark hair. Ianto felt his mouth twist into a smile when he looked at her; he considered her close enough to be family.

"Now, come on. Surely something has to mean something," he murmured, leaning over her shoulder and placing a cup of tea in front of her, "This is from Daria, by the way, less caffeine than coffee."

Gwen pouted, then took a sip of the tea, and raised her eyebrows, surprised, "Bloody hell, this is good. She's like the tea version of you."

Ianto quirked an eyebrow, "I'm sure she'd be honoured. Gwen," he sighed, rubbing his eyes, "we have a problem with the Basement. I'm extremely reluctant to tell Jack as frankly," he paused again, eyes flicking up to study their boss in his office above speculatively, "we've not been…connecting, so much, right now."

"Is that what you're calling it now? I liked 'dabbling', myself," Gwen said dryly, grinning at him. Ianto flicked her forehead, "Shut it. Anyway, I need to take you to the Basement as a Torchwood operative, and because you're fairly…close to the situation. I figure, we go in the morning, sort out this…problem, then we could go into the city, shopping, a meal?"

"Why, Ianto, is that a date?" Gwen's lips twisted into a wry grin, and she nudged his hip with her elbow, "Well, it'd be nice to get out of here for a bit. We don't hang out, just you and me, nearly often enough." She paused, studying his face for a moment, and trailed a hand down his cheek, "and I think we need a heart to heart. A lot has happened, cariad."

Ianto smiled at her, taking her hand and squeezing it, "I'll get it cleared with Jack, and we'll have our day. Make sure you clear it with Rhys, too, I don't want him tearing after me thinking I'm violating his pregnant wife."

He dodged Gwen's punch with a laugh, and went to hand out more drinks.

* * *

"The thing I don't understand," Jack said, through a mouthful of noodles, "is how those bones were broken without someone well, breaking them. Usually takes some effort, too."

"A few of the tests turned up some very interesting evidence," Daria replied, picking at her tofu, "The body still had traces of radiation when we got it – gamma radiation – and so I'm wondering if it wasn't a person that did it. People aren't generally soaked in gamma radiation."

Tucking his napkin in, Ianto smiled, "Well, I suppose that's something. Who ordered the special fried rice?"

Charlton gestured vaguely, frowning. Gwen stopped chewing, questioning, "Charlton? Something on your mind?"

"Just…I don't know," he said, opening the container of rice and digging in, "I feel like I'm not putting two and two together somehow. Hang on…"

Putting his rice down, he raced to his computer. The others looked after him, frowning in confusion, before they settled back into their food.

"I wonder about him sometimes," Jack said, with a smile, "awfully smart for a _human_."

Ianto sharply nudged him with his elbow, and Jack yelped, "Watch your mouth, Harkness."

"I'd rather watch yours, Jones," Jack leered, leaning into Ianto expectantly. Their lips almost met when Gwen shrieked, "Honestly you two, get a different room if you want to carry on like that! We're eating and I'm pregnant!"

The pair laughed, Jack kissing Ianto softly on the jaw before retreating, just as Charlton thudded back into the room.

"Guys, I think I've put two and two together," he said solemnly, slowly coming to sit down with them, "and the answer is not what you'd expect it to be."

Ianto frowned for a moment, before quirking an eyebrow, "…you mean, it's not _four_?" He leapt away just in time to avoid food projectiles from all sides. Charlton pouted for a moment and sighed, "What I mean is that those 25 incidences of Rift activity and this man's death have something in common – trace gamma radiation. I think they might be linked. Where did your friends find the body?"

"_…n…_" Ianto said, frowning and getting up, napkin still tucked in, to fetch his diary. He sat again, and flicked through a few pages, Jack reading over his shoulder. At one point Jack laughed and Ianto blushed deeply, quickly flicking on and glancing at Charlton, who looked back, impassive. Finally, he reached the page he wanted.

"…shit," he murmured, "Fetch the board."

Daria got up immediately and brought in the board, pinpointing the linked Rift activity. Ianto took another pin off of the side, and placed it on – just past the last recorded spike, "…_there_."

The team sat in silence for a moment, absorbing what this meant for them. The activity must have produced something dangerous, for the man to have been killed so…emphatically.

"Uh…" Jack broke the silence, "Can someone pass the chicken?"

* * *

Jack sighed, leaning back in his chair, and looking at Ianto upside down.

Ianto stood there, stoic as ever, and he wondered whether Ianto realized how long it had been since they last had sex. He hated to put it bluntly like that, but he wondered if Ianto sensed his reluctance. Sensed his sadness at having Ianto turned into some new, non-changing version of the coffee-boy he…well, _loved_.

"So…" he said, running his hands through his crop of brown hair, "The new kids. They're pretty good."

"Yeah, they're really stepping up," Ianto replied, "as you would say. I'm sure your spine-tingling speech really made them think."

A smile tugged at his lips, and he grinned, looking innocently at Ianto, "Spine-tingling? Really?"

"Sir, I had goosebumps. I mean,_ 'so swallow your disgust, and your fear, and the angst that naturally seems to come with working for us…' _– ice down my spine, doing the marenga. Very intense."

Sitting up, and swinging around in his chair, Jack smiled at Ianto smugly, "Ah, what would I do without you to stroke my ego?"

"I'm sure you'd do a very good job all on your own, Jack," the Welshman looked at him mischievously, "though I'm sure it wouldn't be as fun."

Jack smiled, the perfect flirtatious remark leaping to his lips immediately, but he halted it on the tip of his tongue. He knew this game as well as Ianto did, and it wasn't the right time. Sighing, Jack got up, and tilted Ianto's chin up to catch his pewter gaze.

"Ianto."

"Jack?"

"You can have your day with Gwen, so long as you get your business with the Basement sorted."

"And?"

"…_and_ if you also come see a movie with me. _Tonight_."

"Okay. Sure thing. Don't you think we ought to worry…about…"

"Worry about what now?"

"Jack, remove your hand from there please. That is _definitely_ harassment."

"Okay fine. Worry about what?"

"The dead person in our autopsy room, and the way that it's linked to…just because I am talking does _not_ mean I will not notice when you put the hand back, Jack."

"…sorry. Go on."

"It's linked to those Rift spikes."

"Yes, that it is. And I'm sure we'll get an alert if anything changes. So let's go to a movie."

"…back row?"

"You betcha."

* * *

"Hello love," Gwen called, as she shut the door, with a smile.

"Ah, if it isn't my darling lady-wife, how're you sweetheart?" Rhys called, heading out of the kitchen.

It always struck him how beautiful she was, and how lucky he was to have her. He hugged her warmly, kissing her on the cheek, "You're looking bloody gorgeous, by the way. How was work?"

She put her cold hands on his cheeks, and he smiled, taking them in his to warm them up. Gwen grinned, "As per. Well, I get a sort-of half day tomorrow, which is nice. I thought it would be good to check if it's okay for me to go for a meal with Ianto, once we sort out some business with a fellow obscure organization?"

"As long as he's not planning to steal you away for himself, that's fine," he replied, with a chuckle, "and I doubt he is. The way him and Harkness carry on."

Here Gwen frowned, and sighed, leaning her head on his chest, "They're not really getting on as well as usual, Rhys. They're a bit distant from each other."

"Well, maybe I _should_ worry, then," he laughed, then frowned. There was something very sad in Gwen's voice, something he didn't like. Something too similar to after Tosh and Owen died, "Here, what do you mean?

He led her to the sofa and sat her down, before going to make them some tea. Gwen sighed, putting her feet up and sinking into the sofa, "I mean, after the whole…back-from-the-dead fandango. They've not been the same since…well, Ianto can't die. Like Jack, except technically Jack just can't stay dead. What I mean is, Ianto can't be killed, without extreme difficulty, and he won't age. And I don't know how well he's coping with that knowledge. Or Jack, for that matter."

Rhys came through from the kitchen, placing their mugs of tea on the coffee table, "Well, Torchwood certainly likes its unusual problems. Christ."

"I know, I know," Gwen said, sipping at her tea and humming appreciatively, "I mean, they're going to see a film tonight, I think, but I just feel so bad for them. As if enough hasn't happened already, eh?" She smiled, laughing slightly, "God, what a life."

Rhys put his arm around his wife, and smiled down at her, kissing her on the head, "Don't worry too much about all of this, Gwen. _It's not your problem_. The lads will deal with it in their own way. Now, calm down, Glee's on, and I know you love it."

"Fine. Have it your way. You love it too."

He laughed, pulling her closer, and stroked one hand over her stomach, feeling his baby – _his baby_ – nudge against it. Their lives were changing so quickly – and sitting here, with his wife at his side and singing teenagers on the telly, Rhys couldn't help but feel it was for the better.

* * *

_A/N: Bwahaha. Gwen and Rhys and their baby have Glee fever. -snarf-_


	23. Alive With The Glory Of Love

_A/N: Okay, so I've been away for a while, completely had school work getting on top of me. I handed in one piece of history coursework and immediately was set another worth twice the marks and due in half the time. Ugh. Anyways, I've gotten that out of the way (hooray!) and while updates will still be sporadic (I have my final art coursework to be working on), there won't be as big gaps between them as there was this time. (: How is everyone? I'm glad to hear there are a lot of Kurt and Mr. Schuester fans here, my fellow Gleeks. (': Don't you all just wish we had Glee Clubs in the UK, for the UK readers of this fic? Honestly. The song for this chapter is 'Alive With The Glory Of Love' by Say Anything, just because it fits remarkably well and is just generally awesome. Anyways, here is a double/bumper chapter to make up for the big gap, I hope you enjoy it - lots of juicy developments. (;  
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* * *

She just couldn't stop crying.

Her arms were curled around her stomach, now large and protruding with her child, and she rested her head on her knees, exhausted from shedding so many tears in so little time.

It was no fault of his, or hers, or anything. Just this unbelievable sadness that had swept over her, knocking her breath out and leaving her broken on the floor. God, she was starting to _look_ like him. Her skin was turning light blue, and glistened subtly in the light of the bathroom, and every day it was like more colour drained out of her eyes, desaturating her gaze with every passing hour.

She hoped he wouldn't find her here, like this, just yet. He'd been noticing the changes in her appearance, and always kissed her skin gently, calling it 'part of the process', but now everything was changing and the only thing keeping her rooted to the earth was the child nudging her from within.

She stroked her stomach soothingly, as the baby tentatively moved, as if it was worried about her. "Shhh," she said, "it's all fine. I'm fine now." She wondered how she was going to get up, as she seemed stuck, but soon she heaved herself up, running her hands over her bump with a watery smile, "Just like your father. Always checking up on me."

"Cath?"

It was him. She opened the door, and smiled at him, still hugging her stomach, "Ianto here?"

"Yep. Brought Gwen Cooper-Williams with him, too."

"Right. Okay. Well, we'll get this sorted then."

He held out his hand, and she felt a bizarre nostalgia; it was like the day he'd brought her back, had held her hand through it all. He would always bring her back. She slid her hand into his, and he pulled her to him to kiss her hair. His skin was no longer so cold to her; she guessed she was just getting colder.

_Soon,_ she thought, rubbing her tummy. _Soon.

* * *

_

_Earlier that day…_

"I don't want you to go."

_Egad,_ Ianto thought, turning to his boss while he re-did his tie. Jack had yanked him into a kiss with it, and now it was skewed. Jack's hang-dog expression really did nothing to improve the situation.

"You realize I have to," he said, turning back to the mirror to check that it was perfectly centre. He idly smoothed his hair again, gaze lingering a little too long on Charlton, whom he could see working in the reflection of the mirror. Wearing black, as ever, Ianto mused that maybe today, he looked _especially_ good. _Unfair, unfair, unfair,_ his heart beat, and blinking rapidly, he turned back to Jack.

Putting his hands on Jack's shoulders and squeezing reassuringly, he smiled slightly, "Gwen and I are only going so you don't have to. I know you don't like spending time there. But this is a _very specific _problem that we need to sort out, so I have to go."

"I still don't want you to," Jack pouted slightly, "but I guess I have to let that slide."

Ianto grinned, patting Jack's cheek, "Good man. I'll only be gone for a day."

Jack paused, before grinning, "That movie sure was fun, eh Ianto?"

"Just yet another cinema I can't go into again with you, Jack."

The pair left Jack's office, and Ianto tried not to notice how Charlton's eyes flicked to him somewhat expectantly. He wasn't sure what the question in the other man's eyes was asking. He wasn't sure whether he wanted to answer it. He looked down, then towards Gwen, proffering his arm.

"Gwen Cooper-Williams," he said, with a smile.

"Ianto Jones," she replied, linking her arm through his, "Shall we depart?"

"Yes," he admitted, "and by the way, I'm driving."

She elbowed him sharply, before waving to the rest of the team. Ianto cast his eye around at his teammates as they left; Daria looking up from analyzing the man's remains and Jack raising his eyebrows with a slight smile. Charlton looked steadily at the pair of them, impassive, and his stomach clenched.

"Well, Gwen," Ianto said, semi-nervously, "Funny story. The Basement's gotten itself into a…_pickle_."

Her eyes immediately narrowed, "What have you been hiding from everyone, Ianto?"

_More than you think, Gwen,_ he sighed inwardly. _Much more than you think.

* * *

_

"Well, we're off to yoga, then, Jack," Daria smiled, looking up at their leader, "if you're sure you won't be lonely."

"No, that's fine," Jack retorted, with a wink, "I've got that picture of you to keep me company, if you know what I mean. That hot ID picture, with the bruising and split eyebrow. Damn sexy."

"Don't miss us _too_ much Jack," she grinned, before following Charlton, who was watching her amusedly.

It was difficult for him nowadays, admittedly. Since Ianto had thrown himself at him, Charlton had felt as if there was something left unsaid between them. The tension was there, as per, but there was something off in the way Ianto was avoiding his gaze. This was past embarrassment; it was bordering on _fear_.

What he had done to make Ianto frightened was a mystery, but there wasn't much he could do. Turning to Daria, he sighed dolefully, "Daria. I need to ask you something."

"Shoot."

"Have you ever fallen for someone completely inappropriate?"

"You mean Ianto? No, can't say that he's my type," Charlton stared at her, slack-jawed, as she continued, "Charlton, there's clearly something very complicated going on there. You shouldn't be after him –"

"– No! Good grief, no, I'm not pursuing him like some sex-crazed _lech_," Charlton interrupted, frantically waving his hands in the vague hope of explaining, "I would never do that, with him being with Jack and all. It's not appropriate."

"Charlton, feeling that way is sometimes not appropriate. We sometimes fall for the wrong people," Daria said, reassuringly, "it's just one of the quirks of human nature. How does he feel about you?"

"Goodness, who knows?" he sighed, scratching his head absently, "We had a strange moment, in the SUV once, but I was the one that backed off. And since then it's like he's been afraid to even look at me."

"Well, then there's definitely something happening in Ianto's mind right now. Look, Charlton, he's very delicate. I'm under oath so I can't tell you anything about _why_ he's delicate, other than what you already know, but watch him, okay?"

She sighed, pulling back her bangs and pinning them away from her face, "Lord knows Torchwood is already dramatic enough."

* * *

Well, she wasn't expecting _this_.

Ianto had started looking shifty about 10 minutes before the Officials had entered the room; she guessed he heard their approach long before she did. They moved stealthily, even in the Basement.

Agent Learner had come in, and that was fine. He was in his human form, but looked distinctly uneasy. Gwen frowned, and he opened his hands to her in a pleading gesture.

"Please don't judge too much."

Then Cath had shuffled in, and Gwen's mouth fell open in shock. Cath's skin had taken on a blue tinge, and glinted in the low light of the room, a muted form of Learner's Umbreyta skin. Her eyes, once dark, alarmingly so, seemed grey, faded, nearer to white than their usual brown. Her hair was as vivid red as usual, but she had cut it shorter, and it curled loosely around her chin, more relaxed than its usual static cloud.

"…_oh_. Wow," Gwen said, moving her hands to her own stomach, "I see your problem."

This drew a smile from the other woman, who laughed weakly, "You're telling me."

"…um," Learner started, voice croaky from lack of use, "Ianto, would you like to talk in the next room? I don't think Cath's really in any condition to talk," as he spoke, Cath sat down wearily on the floor, with a sigh, "and could really use some like-minded company right now."

"Well, if you think that's best," Ianto said, and turned to Gwen, smiling apologetically, "You don't mind, right?"

Still staring in disbelief at Cath, Gwen took a seat, on the floor, opposite her, "No. That's fine, Ianto."

The two men departed to the next room, and Cath exhaled gustily in relief, "I don't feel the same way as I used to. Is that normal?"

Frowning, Gwen questioned, "In what way?"

"I don't feel as…non-human. I feel closer to who I was before I, well, _died_."

Noting that Cath's speech was less formal, less erratic, and more casual and relaxed, Gwen allowed herself to uncoil from her tense posture, "I suppose you would, really. Having a baby is a very natural thing. How far along are you?"

"Well. It's hard to tell. Apparently our child will mature at a different rate, to a norm---I mean, _human_ child. I'm about half-way, he says," Cath explained, rubbing her stomach in discomfort, "I'm getting to the stage where moving is getting difficult. I am still…quiet, when I move, but I can't move for as long, or as easily."

Gwen frowned, looking carefully at the young woman. Cath was looking down at her bump with a slight frown creasing the space between her eyebrows, trailing a finger in a swirl around her belly button. Pregnancy seemed to suit her, even if it was a slightly different kind of pregnancy. Suddenly it hit her, "Cath…why is it that you're starting to look more and more like Learner?"

A single tear traced its way down her cheek, "I could go either way, he says. All of the humans that got pregnant by Umbreyta, in the 'literature'," she rolled her eyes, sniffing, "turned _into_ one. But I wasn't very human when we conceived this child, so I could go either way."

It struck Gwen that 'either way' could mean _anything_ in this context. As if reading her mind – in fact, she probably _had_ – Cath looked up. "I mean, I could die. Or I could revert to how I was when I was _fully_ human," she said, with a sigh, "and I don't know how I feel about that."

Gwen felt her brow crease with worry for the younger girl, and moved closer to Cath, putting an arm around her, "Oh, cariad, I'm sure he'd do anything for you. Here, you've got all the medical equipment you'd need. He'll make sure everything is fine, I'm sure. He loves you, right?"

There was a sniff, and a brief nod, before Cath said, voice terse, "Although sometimes I wonder if it's just _obligation_ now. I'm having his child so he _has_ to love me," She wiped her eyes with the balls of her hands, looking Gwen fully in the eyes, "I don't want to bring up my child in this place. I don't know what they'll be like, I don't even know the gender yet…but this is no place for my child. I'm not sure he understands that."

That was more familiar than she cared to think. Gwen blinked tears out of glassy green eyes and sighed, "Oh, love, I understand that more than you'd think. Rhys doesn't want me working for Torchwood when I have the baby. But Jack doesn't understand why that is. It sucks you up and spits you out, this life."

"I know. I've lived it for _25 years_," Cath said, "I'm meant to be 45. I'm meant to have had my family, and be settled down with a husband, paying school fees and eating as much as I want. Now that I'm…_pregnant_," she forced the word out, "…I feel so much closer to the girl I was before all of this, and I don't want to let that go. You know the baby is forcing the tattoos off of me?"

Now that Cath had mentioned it, Gwen took the time to study the Official's exposed limps. The ink had faded, now a strange, patchy grey colour. She frowned, "How's that, then?"

"Every morning I wake up and a little more of the ink has seeped out of my skin. I'd expect it to be gone by the time I have the baby," she smiled, twisting a lock of hair in one hand, "and funnily I don't feel sad about that. It's like Agent Catherine is being forced out of me, bit by bit. Umbreyta skin can't be tattooed, apparently, but this feels like I'm turning back to_ just Cath_. I hear Agent Catherine, sometimes, but I ignore her. Well, I _can_ now."

Before Gwen could question Cath as to what that _meant_, Ianto and Learner emerged from the other room. Ianto looked cool and calm, but Learner looked distinctly nervous, twitching with anxious ticks. Ianto proffered his hand to her, and she smiled at him, accepting the help up, "Are we off, then?"

"Why yes. Learner and I have made arrangements," he said, "and Catherine's maternity plan has been sorted out. It is negotiable, if she wants more time." Ianto said the last part carefully, as though not to offend the two pregnant women present. She watched Cath get up carefully, with a huff of difficult breath, and frowned as Learner offered a hand too late.

"She prefers Cath," corrected Gwen, idly, before turning to the 'younger' woman, and hugging her, aligning herself so that there was room for their respective stomachs.

"Be careful," she whispered, into Cath's ear, "Take care of yourself. You know how to find me, I'll bet."

Wordlessly, Cath nodded, and stepped back into Learner's arms. Ianto and Gwen turned and started up the long walk back to the real world.

* * *

"So what did you and Cath talk about, while Learner and I were…_negotiating_?" Ianto said, choosing his words carefully. The talk with Learner had been terse at best. He sat opposite Gwen, watching her devour her pasta eagerly, and wondering at how pregnancy really did change appetites.

"Oh, well, being pregnant," she mumbled, through a mouthful of tagliatelle, "and how that works. She's having a harder time than me."

That much was definitely true. Something about Gwen seemed off since she'd spoken to the pregnant Official, and he wasn't going to push her for information. She'd questioned about his and Learner's meeting, and he hadn't let anything slip out, so there was really no use being a hypocrite.

He was already in the wrong for so many things, anyways.

"Gwen…" he began. Her green eyes flicked up to meet his, "I need to tell someone this. Charlton and I…we nearly kissed." God, _'we nearly kissed'_…what was he, _14?_ He inwardly winced at his ineptitude at phrasing things, and waited for her reaction.

His colleague put down her knife and fork, and dabbed at her mouth with the napkin, before folding her hands in front of her and raising one eyebrow, "So, that's what this is about. Who started it?"

Now that hit him hard. He frowned, leaning his chin on the heel of his hand, and sighed, laughing slightly, "I guess me. He was asleep and I could hear his dreams, when I was driving him home after that final Rift spike. He wanted to, but I don't…I don't think he would have acted on it. He shot me down, you know."

At this, Gwen burst out laughing, "He shot you down? My _my_ Ianto, looks like you've met your match," her expression softened, and she took his other hand, rubbing her thumb over the junction of veins on his wrist. In spite of himself, Ianto shivered – the touch echoed back to when he was brought back to life, when Catherine hummed happily at the sight of his moving blood.

"What about _Jack_?"

His head snapped up, and he felt like crying when he replied honestly, "What about Jack? Gwen, I don't _know_. Since I…came back, he's been funny with me. The most we've done is make out and I'm hardly the most carnal person in Torchwood, but even I would really like for things to be the way they were."

A brief smile flicked to Gwen's lips, "Back when you just shagged in greenhouses?"

Ianto gave her a look, and she shrank back, laughing, "Okay, okay. Look, Ianto, I think you need to be careful about all of this. I've been the cheater and believe me, it's not a place you want to be."

"No!" Taken aback, he tried to correct her, "I don't have any plans to shag him anytime soon! Gwen, you know…the way I feel about Jack. It's different to anything in this world. But…I don't know if the playing field is even. Charlton is in love with me despite all of the things he knows about me. He's such a good person he turned me down when I could smell the want on him. It scares me, the fact that he feels that way about me, even now I'm so…_different_. It would be a nice change, to be the one being pursued, and not the pursuer."

Something in Gwen's expression was funny, so he questioned, "What?" frowning slightly.

"He loves you?"

Wordlessly Ianto nodded. Gwen sighed, putting her face in her hands, "God help us. Ianto, he's had a hard life, hard as yours in many ways. Don't make it worse by playing with his feelings. You've been avoiding him, right?" Ianto nodded again. "Well then, you need to stop that. Talk to him. Tell him what is going on with you, or he'll just be miserable."

"Ma'am, yes ma'am!" Ianto smiled, a bittersweet twist of his lips, "Now, would you like dessert?"

She started to search over the dessert menu, and Ianto desperately tried to force his plan of action out of his head.

* * *

"Hey."

_Oh god._ It was Ianto. Charlton cursed inwardly, wondering why he'd picked today of all days to work late. He'd only just left, and was planning on walking the long route home, too tired to drive.

"Ianto. Hi."

The other man seemed anxious, hands pushed into his coat pockets. Charlton watched as one hand came out to scratch the back of Ianto's neck, and idly he longed to trace the soft buzz cut there. He pushed his own hands into the pockets of his jeans, to fight the cold of the evening air.

"Do you mind if I walk with you? I live a couple of streets away from you, actually."

"Really? Well, okay, I guess."

They walked for a lot of the way in complete silence, and Charlton felt thankful for the slight barrier his hood put between them. Finally Ianto spoke up, quiet but measured, nervousness clear in his Welsh vowels.

"I've been avoiding you."

"_I know_."

His answer had come quickly, sharply, staccato from his lips, but he found it hard to be sorry about it.

"Don't you want to know why?"

They'd reached his building. At this point, Charlton really felt like saying, _'No, not really,'_ but honestly his curiosity was getting the better of him. Pulling his keys from his worn leather satchel, listening to the tiny music they produced when they clashed together, he tilted his head, and turned to face Ianto, sarcastic, "I suppose so."

All of a sudden, Ianto was kissing him. Instinctively his arms linked around the Welshman's neck, pulling him closer. He felt Ianto's arms tight around his waist, fingers splayed against his ribs, and wondered how they'd got there. He let Ianto push him against the door to his apartment building, and deepen the kiss, and just as Charlton thought that if he opened his eyes he might see the Universe or possibly _God_,

Ianto  
pulled  
_away._

The lightest brush of fingers against his reddened lips; a gentle kiss pressed to his jawbone; and Ianto simply said, "That's why," and walked off down the road, leaving Charlton with a thudding heart and one hundred more questions on his mind.


	24. Firewater

_A/N: My goodness this chapter was a quick write. I had to do my research though - alcohol comes into it, and as I don't touch the stuff, I actually had to look up stuff about it. (': I'm not gonna be able to post for a while because I have a lot of art to do - sigh - and so I'm not sure when I'll get the time to update or even write. I just wanted to ask, as I'm approaching my limit for this story arc, would you be interested in a third? I have some storylines I can carry over, obviously, but one in particular has to be wrapped up by the end of this one. Because I'm cruel. I like playing with them. Anyways, yeah, just drop me a review, tell me what you think. (: This is named after 'Firewater' by Yellowcard, because it's appropriate, even though this person doesn't drink whiskey (often). Anyways, enjoy.  


* * *

God, he was late._

_25__th__ July, 1916 – the afternoon was hot, and bees buzzed lazily among the lavender bushes lining the street. The smell stuck in his nose, mellow and calming, as he hurried home to his mother. John lived on a very up-market street, all big, red-brick houses, with cellars and attics, and four floors in between. Charlton, on the other hand…_

_It was almost funny, the way the scenery changed as he headed back to his homestead. It was as if the light quality changed, clouded over, and the air became hotter still. Irritated, Charlton rubbed beads of perspiration off the nape of his neck with his hand, glancing down the road to check his bearings._

_It was then that he saw it. It, and the man beside it. It sat, squat, at the street corner opposite, the windows frosted, as if it was staring at him. Then there was the man – a young man, really, with messy, dark hair. He was strange, particularly in comparison to the box, which he normally would have disregarded – he wore a tweed jacket, and worn black trousers, tucked into even more worn black work boots. His shirt was pressed, its collar immaculate, the same sweet shade of lavender as the plants that were as familiar to him as the black soot that clung to his house. He wore a strange tie, too – red, in a bow. The man studied him, too, as if trying to identify him._

_Eventually, the man's forehead, once creased in thought, flattened in realization, and he grinned widely, though his eyes looked honest and sad._

_He raised one hand, and in it Charlton saw a strange gold device, about the size of the man's hand if it was outstretched, and immediately, there was a flash of brilliant light. Instinctively he tried to block the light out with his eyes, but it seemed to penetrate the shield of his hands, and then there was nothing._

_Nothing, except that strange, backward-violin siren, ringing in his ears, and the smell of lavender still clinging to his clothes._

_When he next woke up, there was no trace of the man, or the box, or the strange device that had emitted that brilliant light. There was just noise, and people rushing around, oblivious to his presence. Looking around, he found several familiar buildings, but they were all housing new shops. Getting up, he noticed something that vaguely resembled a bin, and was pleased to find it was._

_A newspaper lay within, partly covered by greasy-smelling packaging with an ominous yellow 'M' on its front. Brushing it aside, Charlton checked the date on the newspaper._

_25__th__ July, 2000. Knowing all at once that he was truly alone, the young Charlton Harrison cursed softly, as his tears of shock and fear and anguish began to fall, and the siren still rang in his ears._

He woke up. Wiping his eyes, he was surprised to find they were wet, and even more surprised that he'd had that dream again. It had been years, another time ago, when he'd had that dream; when his new mother had found him, he'd suffered the dreams for longer than he'd cared to admit to her. Eventually he'd learned to accept them, to calm himself down and go back to sleep.

He glanced at the clock, and sighed deeply, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. 4.25 am. He wouldn't get a decent bit of sleep now. Swinging his legs off the bed, Charlton stumbled out of his room, in search of a stiff drink.

Flicking on lights as he went, he headed straight for the liquor cabinet, kneeling on the cold tiles of his kitchen to reach its place under the sink. Pulling out the bottle of expensive brandy he'd bought as 'an investment' and a brandy glass, he toed the cupboard door closed and stood, putting the bottle on the countertop and checking the glass was definitely clean – his dishwasher was…well, temperamental.

While holding the glass up to the light, he noticed something distinctly off.

There was a man standing in his living room. Nearly dropping the glass, he managed to deflect it onto the counter, at which point the man decided to turn around.

"Now, Charlton," the man tutted, walking towards him with his hands behind his back, "where did this drink habit come from? Brandy, _really_?"  
"_You_…" Charlton managed to gasp out, staggering back against his fridge, "You haven't changed…in _ten years_, you haven't _changed_…"  
"Oh, it's all relative," the man said, with a smile, eyes kind, as he placed the brandy glass upright on the counter, "You might want to pour yourself one of those, for what I'm about to tell you. Trust me, I'm the Doctor."

With a shaky exhalation of breath, Charlton smiled tightly, "I think I need to have something more immediate." Ducking down for a moment, he stood up again with a bottle of vodka and a shot glass in hand. Pouring himself a double, he necked it in one go, grimacing before replacing the bottle and putting the glass in the sink. Taking ahold of the brandy glass and bottle with now-steady hands, he gestured with a nod of his head to the living room, "After you."

The Doctor ran a hand through his wayward dark hair with an expression caught somewhere between shock and awe, and replied slowly, "Right. Well. Quite so."

Seated on the plush sofa, the Doctor watched Charlton pour himself a glass of brandy, and sigh with relief when – he presumed – the alcohol hit his system.

"You kidnapped me when I was 15," he mumbled, into the brandy glass.  
"Now, when you put it that way, it doesn't sound very good."  
_"Tell me what was good about what you did to me."_  
"…_ah_…I can't. Not _yet_. In fact, not _ever_, it'll just happen soon. Are you and Ianto Jones…?" The Doctor gesticulated wildly, "Intimate? Yet? That is the _key._ How I keep track of this whole thing."  
Snorting into his brandy, Charlton wiped his face on the back of his hand, "_Uhm_. No. We've kissed. Once."  
"Right. We're on track. Charlton, are you happy in your life? Have you ever been happy?"

For a moment, he was stunned into silence. He stared at the dark-haired man, with that ever-present tweed jacket, with the damn elbow patches, and thought back to when he'd been taken. He supposed his life in 1916 was okay. He had friends, got good marks at school, parents were happy together…

…and yet, there was this overwhelming sense of melancholy that he felt always. Just at the back of his mind, always there, this cloud hanging over him.

"Ah. I see," the Doctor nodded, patting him on the back, "Quite so. Well, Charlton, it seems you were made for this world you've entered. The supernatural, alien world, that is. You're on your way." Here he stood, dusted off his faded black trousers, and said, "Well, I must be going. Can't leave that old blue box outside forever, not when I've just repaired the inside."

When he saw that Charlton was getting up to object, he planted a large hand on his chest and pushed him back onto the sofa, reassuring him with a friendly clap on the shoulder.

"Charlton. We'll meet again. Keep calm, and carry on."

And with that, the young man walked, spine upright, from Charlton's apartment, the door closing with a subtle click. Outside of his window, about five minutes later, Charlton saw a flashing light, and slowly fell asleep to the sound of that strange, familiar siren. He slept through the night.

* * *

"He smells of booze," Gwen commented to Jack, leaning on his desk lightly, and glancing at the American.  
"That he does, Gwen. That he does," he replied, hands clasped together, elbows propped on the tabletop, "but has his work suffered? No. He's a freak of nature."  
Folding her arms over her stomach, Gwen pushed off the desk and turned to stare at Jack accusatively, "You know drinking on the job is wrong. That we should have sent him home."

Looking around Gwen into the floor below, Jack eyed Charlton speculatively.

"You know he had two double vodkas and two glasses of brandy before he got here? That's over twice the limit of units for a male."  
Raising his eyebrows, Jack looked seriously at Gwen, "No kidding? Jesus. I suppose that's pretty hard-going."  
"One of each in the early hours of the morning, and then one of each with his breakfast," she said, worriedly, "Weetabix, apparently. He told Ianto, after asking for some strong coffee. He looks like hell."

It was true. The usually tidy young man's hair was sticking up strangely, he hadn't shaved and he had deep circles under his eyes.

"Should we say something, do you think?" Gwen said, anxious.  
Jack watched Charlton sip at his coffee, laughing and joking with Ianto and Daria, and sighed, rubbing his eyes tiredly, "No, let's see how he goes. Just keep an eye on him, make sure he's not slacking. I'll have Daria talk to him later, she's the psychological personnel here."  
Nodding briefly, Gwen left, just as the Hub alarms started to ring.  
"Oh, fuck," muttered Jack, hurriedly following her out.

"I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but here goes," Ianto said, peering over Charlton's shoulder and inhaling the aroma of alcohol off him, "it looks like we'll need everyone. This is a big thing, wooded area, but there are some places of residence within its range. Looks like our friend from the 25 rift spikes is back."

* * *

_A/N: Aren't I cheerful? :D_


	25. This Addiction

_A/N: Another bumper chapter for you guys, I'm mega busy with school and art so make it last. If there are any questions about the fic thus far, don't hesitate to ask - a lot is happening at once. Song for this one is 'This Addiction' by Alkaline Trio, because it's beautiful. Enjoy. :)  
_

* * *

It was more than they'd ever expected. Even having all hands on deck, it looked like too much.

The hulking creature had its back to them, its hide glistening metallically in the low evening light. It looked like it was made of white granite, as judging by the deep grooves worn into the earth and the smashed trees around them, it was heavy enough to be so.

Jack was whispering frantically into their comms, a whisper of moth's wings in their ears – "Protect Gwen, at all times. _No_ Gwen, you _will not_ be going _anywhere near_ that thing. Stay at the SUV, give us supplies. _No arguments_." – but all Ianto was aware of was the thudding of his own blood gushing around his body.

In a sick way, he was reveling in the challenge, the idea that finally, here was something he could dismantle; here was something he could destroy with no guilt.

The 25 joints of the creature were clear, Jack had spotted them after a while of staring in dumb horror – already he was analyzing how to separate them. So this was what those Rift spikes had been; they were parts of this creature, being dropped off one by one.

It still had a vaguely scorched look to it, come to think of it.

"Okay team," the subtly panicked tone in Jack's voice brought him back, "On three, just how I said. One…two…three…"

Ianto was running by three, knowing nothing but the solid feel of the mallet in his hands and the freedom of running as fast as he could.

* * *

"_He took the hit very hard," Daria said, shaking her head and opening her hands, "I've done all I can. He's sedated at the moment for his own safety. All we can do now is wait."_

_A sigh. He lay despondently, waiting the injury out.

* * *

_

Ianto was magnificent, and terrifying.

He leapt all over the thing, catlike, so very alien he didn't know quite how to handle it. After a while he realized what he was doing; lingering just long enough in one place for the creature to smash its own limbs against its joints, drawing an unearthly scream from its mouth.

He ran as quickly as he could to what he believed was a knee, and held the chisel to it, striking it as hard as he could with the mallet. Chips flew everywhere, the shock of the blow being absorbed by his thick gloves, but still no breakages.

Jack heard the squeal of brakes and dared to dart a glance over in the newly arrived car's direction. It was a battered old black van, and from it ran Learner and the pregnant Cath, her skin a deep blue like Learner's and shining. Other than her stomach, she looked all-Umbreyta; tiny spikes were even sprouting from her calves, arms and back, through holes awkwardly cut into her top.

Now there were three superheroes darting all over the creature, and then the first joint broke.

* * *

_He glanced a hand over his fallen colleague's cheek, hissing sympathetically at the high temperature he was running. He was a hero; he only hoped he wouldn't die like one._

_Decorum est pro patria mori, after all.

* * *

_

Limbs thudded to the ground, turning from their startling, glowing white to a dull grey. Yelping in shock, Charlton started to drag one across the ground, pulling it towards the SUV.

Unfortunately, the creature, having lost so many limbs in so little time, turned, throwing off Cath and Ianto; luckily, Learner caught Cath mid-fall, setting her carefully back on her feet before they reassessed their approach.

Charlton wasn't so lucky. And neither was Gwen.

It spotted them, both struggling to isolate the limb in a heavy container, and suddenly the creature was moving faster than they'd ever seen it move, a wordless screech echoing from its mouth; a sound like nails on a chalkboard, and shredding metal.

Suddenly time started to slow down.

Gwen closed her eyes, tears falling from her lashes; and muttered prayer issued from her lips; Jack screamed her name, and Ianto stood, shell-shocked, a pillar of strength frozen in horror. The limb crept towards Gwen at a snail's pace, and all he could think was – _I can't let her and her baby die_.

Time still moved slowly as he ran, and pushed her out of the way. Then the hit came, and time sped by,

and there was only blood

and noise

and darkness.

* * *

_He presumed he was still alive. Or at least, he hoped so; he desperately hoped that fleeting, cold touch of a hand on his cheek was not a trick of his own mind._

_He could hear them, most of the time. It was very reassuring, as if they were trying to carry on normally. His favourite thing to listen to was Daria – her even breathing, the taps of her fingers against her keyboard, the scratch of her pen against paper on a clipboard._

_There was something mechanical about her at this point that he liked, that kept his mind off of the vague, random moments of Ianto, lingering just at the edges of his consciousness, so very close and yet just out of reach.

* * *

_

_"Charlton!"_ Jack screamed, and Daria turned see Charlton on the floor, hit by the creature.

Suddenly it was as if she was on autopilot; dropping her chisel and mallet, she ran at top speed to the SUV, dragging the first aid kit out from under the passenger seat, and ran to his side, analyzing the situation.

No broken neck, but he wasn't breathing. That would be a problem.

Quickly, she sealed what looked like a broken nose, and began the mouth to mouth, listening and watching for the rise and fall of his chest in between rescue breaths.

"_Come on_. Come on now. Charlton, _stay with us_."

Gwen was unwinding bandages frantically, trying to stem the bleeding of a large cut to his head. In some places she could see bone – while head wounds bled heavier than others, this one was particularly severe.

It was taking too long now to get him to breathe. She carried on, running short of breath, until she felt hands at her back, supporting her.

"Daria. Come on; let me do it for a while. Sort out his other injuries."

Silently, she let Ianto take over, and miraculously, after 5 sets of rescue breaths, Charlton spluttered once, and began to cough, groaning a little in pain as he came to semi-consciousness. Turning his head to the side, he spat, and Daria saw blood.

That would be another problem.

"Ianto, get me the stretcher," she said, but Ianto was staring quietly at Charlton, carding a hand through his sticky, reddened mass of curls comfortingly. She frowned, barking, "Ianto! Make a move! _Now_!"

Quickly, Ianto fetched the stretcher from the back of the SUV – she'd never been so thankful for requesting it, or grateful to Ianto for expanding the SUV to fit it, somehow – and together, they slid Charlton carefully onto it, wheeling him back into the back of the SUV.

"Jack! We've gotta get him back to the Hub, he'll bleed out if we don't go _now!_"

"Take Ianto and Gwen and get him back there! The Basement and I will handle this!"

Gwen got into the driver's seat, working, like her, on autopilot. She and Ianto clambered into the back of the SUV with Charlton, and they were off.

It was just her and him, working over Charlton. Their eyes met across him and she hated the look in Ianto's eyes – like he was losing something he'd only just found.

* * *

_God. He wanted to gasp out, but feared it would reveal his nearing consciousness._

_He didn't know why it was such a terrifying prospect, coming back to his life. Maybe it was the way Doctors kept appearing through his life, in his house. Maybe it was the alcohol and the way it made his blood seep out just that bit too much._

_It was comfortable, in the darkness. Better than the pins-and-needles of tiptoeing around Ianto.

* * *

_

He watched them, covered in his own blood.

He'd been hit by the creature several times, had died once already and was probably nearing a second, but at least they had 10 of the 25 pieces of it isolated in crates just behind the Basement's SUV.

He hated to think how Charlton, drunk when they'd set off, had taken the hit. Alcohol tended to thin the blood somewhat; it might be more difficult to stop the bleeding. And blood loss, well…it wasn't fun. As Jack was finding out, the edges of his vision blurring.

Learner and Cath leapt around the creature gracefully – despite her pregnancy, Cath was still faster than the creature, which was all they needed. He marveled at the way the Officials could just dig their fingers into the creature's joints as if it was made of butter.

He'd seen the stone under Ianto's fingernails, and shivered at the thought.

He dragged another limb into a crate and slammed it shut, attempting to haul it along the floor to the SUV, but found that his knees gave way in a very strange and frightening way. It was always scary, dying. No matter how many times he went through it.

"Hey, guys? I'm gonna be out for a while. One of you is gonna have to do the hauling," he yelped, beginning to fall to the floor. This type of death was very familiar; the most significant death of his life was a slow fade, just like this, and so much had changed afterwards he was afraid to let himself go.

The darkness crept in, slightly. Bizarrely he felt tears prick at his eyes, and moved his hands feebly as if to cradle the memory of Ianto's body in his arms. Ianto's body, draining of life.

He knew he had to go, and that it would be for the best, but he still tried to linger.

* * *

"_How long has it been since we left them?"_

"_3 hours. Well, getting on for 4 now."_

"_And he's been out for that long."_

_Ianto didn't say it like a question, so she just nodded a fraction and went back to sitting at Charlton's bedside quietly. To her surprise, Ianto slammed a fist down on the table. She tried to ignore the dent._

"_Christ, Ianto, what?"_

"_Not like this. I've gotta go."_

_Before she could say anything to stop him, he'd sped out of the door, a fleeting ghost in the coldness of the autopsy bay. Shivering, she pulled on her thick jumper, and returned to reading to her fallen friend.

* * *

_

When Jack revived, it was over.

He gasped back to life, as per usual, but was surprised when warm hands pulled him back into a more relaxed position, into a comfortable lap and the softness of a familiar suit. Ianto carded his hands through Jack's hair, but he was too far back to Jack to see his face.

"…hey," Jack mumbled, addled from death's deep sleep, "…s'over?"

"Yeah," Ianto said distantly, "'S'over.'"

"Huh." A pause. "I always seem to miss your shining moments of glory."

The hands in his hair stopped for a moment, and then carried on, "I don't mind."

Suddenly, a flash of light caught Jack's eye, and he sat up, shocked to see a pile of white going up in flames. Ianto's hands, warm like the life flowing back through his body, pulled him back, calmly but firmly.

"What is that?"

"It's their way, Jack."

_"What is that?"_

"It's the creature."

There was no way that pile of white dust and splinters could have been the creature. No way that they could have taken it to pieces so quickly. Unless…

"How long was I out?"

"…twenty minutes."

His blood ran cold, and over the other side of the fire, Jack noticed Learner and Cath standing stoically, twin Umbreytas, watching the rubble burn down. Both were covered from head to foot in white dust.

"They've killed it, then."

"It's their way. They're not Torchwood."

"Ianto. Look at me."

Finally, he let him go, and Jack sat up, turning to look at Ianto, who had pulled himself into a more comfortable position, looping his arms around his legs. He was covered in white dust, no injuries but a small cut perpendicular to the one he'd gotten that horrible week his whole world had died.

"Oh, _God_."

The look on Ianto's face hurt, "Yeah."

And then Ianto got up, dusted himself off and walked away, leaving Jack to stare blankly at the blackened, smouldering remains of the creature, and wonder at what had happened to his team.

* * *

"_Ianto! God, Ianto, you look horrible…" she paused, and he watched her reassess the circumstances, "It's done, then?"_

_He slid easily into his seat at Charlton's bedside, "Yeah. It's done." Staring down at his colleague, he sighed, "The Officials are disposing of it."_

_She noticed the smell of burning that clung to him, and decided not to press further. Yawning, she stretched, and said, "Ianto, I'm going to have to take a nap, just for a half hour. Could you watch him, please? He's taken an unusual amount of time to come out of the sedation…if he isn't awake after my nap, then…we'll have to figure out what to do. I'll be back in half an hour."_

_He nodded, and she sighed gratefully, retiring to the luxury of the new Torchwood sofa, asleep as soon as her head hit the cushions.

* * *

_

"What did you do to him?"

The pair looked at him immediately, and even without their pupils, Jack felt they were staring right at him. Learner started, "To Ianto? Harkness, you have the paperwork, you _know_ –"

"– _No_. I didn't know about this part. The part where he can destroy a creature made of stone in twenty minutes. Explain that to me," he felt himself shake with anger, and tried to keep it under control. He failed, allowing his body to be wracked with shivers, "Explain how Ianto Jones, my archivist, the maker of the best goddamn coffee in the world, managed to demolish that thing in so short a time that _my blood hasn't even dried yet_."

Cath tilted her head curiously at him in a way that gave him the feeling of being looked through, "You don't understand yet, do you?"

He sighed, exasperated and angry, "Understand what?"

"How much Ianto loves this new life of his. The feeling's been with him since the beginning of his life, since Torchwood One and Canary Wharf. He loves the bloodiness of it, the chaos and destruction, and now he can act on it. You still don't understand why we chose him, do you?"

"The Rift _told_ you to."

"No. We chose him because he was born for this life. He was ours as soon as he came into the world, long before you ever set eyes on him. He was never _yours_, not really. And now that he's stronger than you, you can't cope," Cath paused, trailing her finger around her belly button in a spiral meditatively, "You were never the hero, Jack. As soon as he came along, you were the damsel."

With that, Learner shepherded her away from him, away from the charred patch of earth where they'd burned the creature and loaded its remains into a container and shoved it in their SUV, saying simply, "We'd give you a lift back, but there's no room for you."

He watched their taillights fading into the distance, and sighed, starting the long trek back to home, Cath's words weighing heavily on his mind.

* * *

"_God, I wish you would just wake up, you know."_

_Listening to Ianto was entertaining, in a way. As if he didn't know Charlton was listening intently._

_**Maybe I just need a push? **__he thought smugly._

_**Oh, yeah, you would say that.**_

_Holy shit. Could Ianto hear him?_

_**Yes. I can. What's keeping you, Charlton?**_

_He paused for a moment, not wanting to give the Welshman a reply just yet._

…_**ah. I see.**_

_Well, there was the part where Ianto would know either way. He felt pressure on his hands and realized Ianto had gathered them in his._

_**Thanks. I'm feeling rather cold in the body department, **Charlton admitted sheepishly.**  
**_

_**No problem. That's a good sign, really; the amount of alcohol in your blood, we thought you'd never stop bleeding.**_

_**Sorry about that. I like a drink, I suppose.**_

_There was something that felt like a snort, before Ianto replied, __**Yeah, I guessed. Charlton, would you come back, please? You're getting near to what we call The Point of No Return.**_

_**We? **__Charlton inquired, imagining raising his eyebrow._

_**Well, me. I can feel the dark creeping into you. Feels like how I did when I died, to be honest, not enjoyable.**_

_Charlton sighed quietly internally, flexing his fingers, __**Ianto, why do you want me to come back so badly? You've spent a lot of time avoiding me and some time kissing me. I'm finding it hard to distinguish what we're doing, here.**_

_He felt Ianto sigh, too. He winced. Maybe it was too heavy a question, when he could die any moment._

_**Not any moment, Charlie. But sooner than I'd like. Truth be told, I'd like you back because you're the only person here who seems to understand me; you're also the person who knows least about me.**_

_He laughed inwardly. He knew a great deal about Ianto from observation, really, and let it scroll through his mind for Ianto's benefit._

_**Ah, well. Point taken. I suppose you feel quite smug about all of that. **__There was a pause, and Charlton waited patiently. __**Okay, well, you understand me even with the whole revival thing added to the equation. I've been in love with a man who can't handle that for so long; maybe I want to know what it's like to be loved despite it.**_

_That would do nicely. __**Finally, someone called me Charlie.**_

He drew in a breath in a quiet gasp, and noticed Ianto was still holding his hands in his. Opening his eyes, he stared up into a pair of pewter eyes, boring into his own with such determination that he smiled slightly, croaking, "Hello."

"Back with us, Charlie?"

He raised one of his hands in a shaky 'a-okay' symbol, remarking quietly, _"Can't keep me down."_

The look in Ianto's eyes was warm and sparkling. He was home.


	26. Parachute

_A/N: Ehhhhh. I don't know if I like this chapter so much. I like parts of it, but it's mainly just filler. We're nearing the end of this arc; chapter 30 will be the last one. I just wanted to know whether you guys would like more story after this arc has finished. I know I've already asked, but I wanted to be more specific. I have a storyline for a third arc, definitely, of 15 chapters, and I have ideas for a fourth, but I really don't want to be flogging a dead horse. Everyone who reads this, I'd love to know what you think, so drop me a review with your ideas. I don't want TPBU to overstay its welcome. ;) Anyways, song for this chapter is, shamefully, 'Parachute' by Cheryl Cole, because surprisingly, I actually like it, and the sentiment fits. Enjoy.  
_

* * *

Charlton got a month at home, in the end.

Thankfully, he could still use a laptop, meaning he could sit fairly happily in bed with his comm on, laptop propped on his lap, typing away and keeping an eye on Torchwood from home. They take turns visiting him.

Ianto makes it a duty of his to make him breakfast every single morning, even on the weekends. Generally he uses a rota of breakfasts, coupled with the supplements and medications Daria has him on to get his strength back up, but sometimes it's a request – waffles, bagels, that kind of thing.

One day Ianto came around to find Charlton actually up in bed, talking to a _very specific_ man seated in the trusty armchair in the corner of the room. When he entered, the pair looked up, and Charlton's face brightened, "Alright Ianto?"

The man, dressed in a blazer, bow-tie and crisp shirt teamed with faded black jeans and battered boots, gave a small wave, "Good morning. I just came to check up on Charlton here, I knew he'd gotten into a spot of well, danger."

Ianto felt his brow furrow, "Doctor. You're a lot more cheerful than when I saw you last."

"Well, I've got good news on the agenda, this time, rather than being a harbinger of doom. Always perks me right up when time and space sorts itself out again," The Doctor stood, dusting himself off, and gave a short wave to Charlton, "I've gotta be offski, Charlton. Stay off the drink; r_emember what I told you_."

He grinned, then turned to Ianto, the grin slipping off his face slowly. He patted him roughly on the shoulder, eyes sympathetic, "Ianto. You'll see me again."

Then The Doctor left the room with that charismatic walk of his. To Ianto's surprise, when he shut the front door, he did it quietly; it was shut with a barely audible click.

Turning when he heard the rustle of fabric against fabric, he was surprised to see Charlton standing up, stretching his arms warily, so as not to disturb his ribs. Holding a hand to them briefly, he winced, "Ooft. That smarts. I was thinking we could go out for breakfast this morning, maybe. I'm starting to smell like bed, and it's distinctly worrying."

Ianto met Charlton's warm gaze questioningly, "Well, I guess so. You'll need to keep your comm on, though. If you want we could stop off at the Hub and you can say hi to everyone."

Almost by instinct, Charlton smiled, clapping Ianto on the arm and letting his hand linger, rubbing it soothingly, "Ianto. I'm feeling a lot better. I'll let you know as soon as I feel bad, but I'm going to go and have a shower."

Impulsively, Ianto leaned forward and brushed his lips against Charlton's, feeling heavy stubble scratch his clean-shaven skin lightly. Pulling back, he smiled slightly at the surprise in Charlton's eyes.

"Coffee'll be ready when you get out. Let me know if you need help getting dressed."

Charlton nodded dumbly, and then walked into the adjoining bathroom, closing the door behind him with a quiet click. All of the damn doors in the apartment seem to make that polite sound, Ianto mused, walking through to the kitchen and flicking the coffee machine into life.

* * *

It felt like he knew this apartment like the back of his hand now, having been there every morning and sometimes evenings too, to give Charlton paperwork or make sure he'd taken his meds and supplements for the day. He idly wondered at how much he worried about the other man – and how new this all was to him.

Worrying about Jack was very different, as it always felt like he had a safety mat. Jack was reckless, impulsive, and seemed so unbreakable – no, not unbreakable. He could be broken, but time and space wouldn't let him _stay_ that way.

He always knew in the back of his mind that Jack would come back. Didn't mean the front of his mind didn't worry that he wouldn't, some day.

Charlton, on the other hand, was so _familiar._ He remembered being like him, inexperienced with the life Torchwood entailed; not being allowed out on field missions. Torchwood One had trained him in the computing side of the job, but Three was a new story, entirely different, and he'd meticulously worked at his weapon skills until he was good enough to join the rest of the team on the field.

Charlton was breakable, very breakable, and if anything serious happened, he would stay broken. He wouldn't come back. As it was, seeing him broken and bloodied on the ground that day had set a cold feeling in his stomach and sent his nerve endings alight with adrenaline. Now that he was like Jack – no, stronger, _more_ unbreakable – it was like saving himself. The old Ianto, fragile, human.

As he lingered on that last thought, Charlton came into the kitchen, clean and no trace of the thick stubble that had sprouted on his face from lack of care. He was, however, shirtless, and despite the many multicoloured bruises that littered his torso, Ianto couldn't help but stare at the toned, tanned chest before him.

He wasn't muscular. Just…_lean_. Like he could see every sinew under his skin working. It was very, very different to Jack's chest – and he knew that particular chest very well.

"Sorry," Charlton said, "But could you give me a hand? I could manage everything but the damn shirt."

Dutifully, Ianto helped him pull on a black polo shirt, and gestured to the waiting coffee, "Coffee?"

"Oh, definitely."

Charlton padded over in his bare feet to the living room, thankful for the open plan of his apartment – less doors to push open with his aching arms. He gingerly touched the stitches on his forehead, humming when he realized he no longer felt any pain from the gash there. Taking out a pair of socks from the pocket of his black jeans, he pulled them on carefully, and then turned his mellow brown gaze to Ianto.

Wordlessly, Ianto handed him a coffee cup, and Charlton grasped it in both hands, while he tried to ignore the minute shake of Charlton's wrists. They were coloured, like most of his body, with bruising, and the humanness of it, the way the colours stained his tanned skin, hit Ianto in a very unpleasant way. He wondered if he still bruised.

Charlton caught him looking, "Stop worrying about it. You know as well as I do that I did the right thing. My life was worth less than Gwen's, in that moment."

Ianto frowned, cupping Charlton's now clean-shaven cheek for a millisecond, "Don't think that."

"No, really. It was very strange, somewhat surreal, when I decided what I was going to do. It was like time slowed down, and I just had this one purpose. Like my entire life, all the changes, had just been for that one moment."

Ianto sipped at his coffee, thinking about the ever-present Doctor and how right Charlton might have been.

* * *

Jack was surprised as everyone else when Ianto entered the Hub, followed by a slightly slower Charlton.

The young man didn't look bad, considering; the entire left side of his face was coloured by bruises, and he could see the ugly pattern of black sutures dotting along his forehead, but there was light in his eyes and he seemed in good spirits. Judging by the slightly stiff way he was walking, Jack guessed the left side of his body was still heavily bruised and had seized up from three weeks in bed, but the change in gait wasn't obscenely noticable. The tech expert had a beatific smile etched onto his face, and hugged Daria back tentatively when she came running.

Making his way down from his office, Jack grinned, "Charlton. Nice to see you're still with us." He drew the slimmer man into a gentle hug, careful not to hurt him, before drawing back. Daria tugged insistently at Charlton's hand, "While you're here, I think I'd like to give you a check-up. If you're going to disobey your medic's orders and go out anyway, we may as well see what the damage is like three weeks on."

As Daria tugged their youngest recruit into the autopsy bay, Jack noticed the slight shiver that Charlton let shake him as he entered the room. No doubt last time he was here, things were not so rosy.

"Charlton!" Gwen's voice rang out in the autopsy bay as the heavily pregnant woman hurried down the steps to hug Charlton to her, tears trickling down her face, "I can't even begin…you're _here_…_thank_ you…"

Charlton rubbed soothing circles on her back, shushing her with a small smile, and pulling back to hold her by the shoulders. He wiped away Gwen's tears, "I don't regret it. Not never."

Gwen laughed, sniffing slightly. "I," she began, then paused, quirking her lips wryly and stroking her stomach, "No, _we,_ can't thank you enough. You saved our _lives_."

Charlton smiled brightly, "Well, that was what I hoped to do at the time. Gwen, it's fine. Really. I'm a little battered and bruised but I'm still here, so it's fine."

Daria smiled slightly, wiping her eyes, before instructing Charlton to take off his shirt so she could see his injuries properly. He struggled slightly to get it over his head, but with a little assistance from their medic he was soon sitting sedately on the autopsy table, as Daria prepared to check everything.

"Ianto," Jack said, and the young man's head snapped to face him, "Come with me."

He began to walk up the steps to his office, hearing Ianto start to follow him, and when they were both in his office, he shut the door. Ianto looked at him questioningly, "Sir?"

"Don't 'sir' me, Ianto, we're past that, _surely_," Jack sighed tiredly, falling into his chair and steepling his fingers, propping his elbows on the desk, "I wanted to talk to you about the Basement and what they did to you. And how that's affected you since."

_And me_, he left out, but both men knew it was there.

"I don't know what you want me to say, Jack."

"I want you to tell me you're still the same Ianto. _My_ Ianto."

"Oh Captain my Captain, you know I can't say that. I'm yours if you want me but we fall at the first hurdle."

There was a pregnant pause wherein Jack glanced down at Charlton. He changed the subject, watching the young man getting prodded by Daria, while Gwen watched anxiously, "How's he been, these past few weeks?"

Jack felt Ianto's disdain in the air before he heard it in his voice, "You'd know if you'd visited. The Doctor stopped by today."

Jack stiffened out of habit – it was a sore topic, for him. He'd loved the Doctor so fully once upon a time that the Doctor's rejection – calling him 'wrong', casting him out – still hurt even now. He tried to sound nonchalant, "Oh really? Did he have anything interesting to say?"

"Only that I'd see him again. Nothing more."

With a sigh, Jack turned from the laughing picture that Daria, Gwen and Charlton formed, him covered in patches of colour yet smiling through the pain. He looked at Ianto carefully, "I don't know what I want anymore. I wanted the romance we never got the chance to have. I wanted to love. I wanted you, Ianto, but now…"

_Now I don't think **you** want that. And that scares me._

Ianto sighed too, and rubbed his eyes tiredly, before leaning over the desk to cup Jack's cheek and kiss his forehead, "Now things are different. I think I'll always want you Jack, even if I don't always love you. Just let me know when you figure out what you want."

With that, Ianto swept out of his office, and Jack was left in silence, feeling his chest tighten unbearably with sadness.

* * *

"It looks intense up there," Daria commented to her colleagues, as she shone a light into Charlton's pupils to check the dilation. He glanced up briefly as black spots danced in his vision, "Ianto and Jack?"

"They're always intense," Gwen mused, chewing on a doughnut meditatively, "Always have been, probably always will be. I'd say it's Jack's bad influence on Ianto; he can be a real live wire sometimes."

Daria laughed, "Well, I'd love to see that some day. Does he even drink?"

"His favourite's straight Jack Daniels, though when he gets in a funny mood – and by funny, I mean not funny _at all_ – he's a vodka man. Although, I don't think alcohol affects him the same way, since he got back from the Basement," Gwen said, pensive, while Daria asked Charlton to lie down to take an x-ray.

"Gwen, you ought to move away from here, I don't want to take any risks with your baby because of Charlton's busted ribs," Daria smiled, and Gwen obliged, moving to the upper levels of the autopsy bay. While the x-ray was taken, Charlton sighed.

"I wish I knew what it was like for him. To be so different, that is," he paused, grinning, "There was something beautiful about him, when he fought that creature."

"Beautiful, eh?" Gwen looked at Daria and both women grinned, "He's got you smitten, _cariad._"

Charlton sat up, wincing slightly, and ran a hand through his curls, "There's just something about him, something more real than anyone I've ever met. He's tangible in a completely new way."

Daria looked quietly at Charlton for a second, as if caught in thought, before grinning, "Well, the good news is the ribs seem to be on the mend. It's strange, there's not been as much movement as I'd expect with 4 fractured ribs…maybe you're just a lucky healer. Be careful with them anyways, it'll take another month until they're fully back to normal."

He slid off the table, and she helped him put his shirt back on. Movement caught his eye – Ianto moving swiftly down the stairs, and a cursive glance at Jack in his office let Charlton know something had gone awry. Luckily, Daria was his saving grace, calling out to the Welshman.

"Ianto! I'm sorry to bother you, but could you take Charlton home again? I've got to write up his progress now, and Gwen's well, pregnant, and I don't want her waters to break or anything," Daria laughed as Gwen elbowed her sharply in the ribs, "Would that be okay?"

The Welshman gave a terse smile, and soon he and Charlton had departed with a wave from Charlton. Gwen and Daria took in Ianto's tensed shoulders as they left, and exchanged frowns, glancing up at Jack. Jack was watching Ianto leave too, arms folded and resting on the desk, frowning intently.

They looked away, and Gwen quipped, "Lord. What tangled webs these young lovers weave. Want to go and get something to eat? I've a _monster_ craving for a cheese and marmite Panini."

* * *

They ended up taking a slight detour.

They'd been walked along perfectly fine, talking perfectly normally, when Charlton had stopped and looked at Ianto carefully, a slight frown creased in between his brows.

"You're off. Something Jack said?"

Ianto made a non-committal noise in his throat, and Charlton blinked, "Ah. I'm sorry. I'm sure I've not helped, with whatever's happening between us."

Here Ianto looked shocked, and looked at him, "What? No, no, don't say that. It's not anything you've done, and not even really anything I've done. More like something I am."

Suddenly Charlton winced in pain, doubling over, "Ahhh, that doesn't feel good."

Ianto's brow creased in concern, "Charlton? Can you make it home?"

"Ahhhh, it's not looking that way right now mate."

"Right, okay, I'll take you to mine, I guess."

They carried on, Ianto supporting Charlton slightly and chiding him ("You can't crouch over, you need to straighten out!"), until they reached Ianto's flat, and took the small lift. As soon as they were inside, Charlton straightened up with a grin, "I'm going to have a look around, if you don't mind."

Realization dawned on Ianto as Charlton began to peruse his small living room, in particular the DVD and CD collections on one wall, "You faker. Why would you do that? I thought you were fucking hurt!"

"Calm down, Ianto, I know I was dishonest, but I wanted to find out more about you. Gwen keeps making these comments that made me want to know you better." The young man turned, his black clothes making him a stark silhouette against the stacks of DVDs. A tiny smile broke over his face, "I don't know if you remember the part where I'm in love with you, but let me tell you, that was quite a large factor."

Having Charlton exploring his flat was very different to Jack, when he had last been around. It had seemed like Jack found the very idea that Ianto had a life alien; Charlton just wanted to know what that life was like.

Taking off his jacket and waistcoat, Ianto hung them on a coat rack and loosened his tie, and was somewhat surprised when Charlton walked straight up to him and kissed him with impressive force. Regardless, he wrapped his arms around him, kissing back with all the emotions that were spinning around his mind. He remembered to breath and pulled back slightly only to have Charlton kiss him again, and he ran his fingers through the other man's mass of dark curls and thought, _I could actually want this _–

Drawing back, Ianto studied Charlton's face with a question in his eyes. Slate met chocolate and he tried to find the answer he wanted in those thick-lashed eyes.

_Could I take advantage of this? Should I?_

It was _yes.

* * *

_

_Shit_. He had to make this right.

Jack had ran as fast as he could to Ianto's flat and pounded on the door until he got an answer. It was late at night, nearing three am, far too late in any sane person's mind for this kind of thing, but Ianto had to answer. He just _had_ to.

Sure enough, the door swung open, and there stood Ianto, in his pyjamas, hair mussed from sleep and eyes dazed.

"Jack?"

"Ianto." Jack wanted to go in but there was something strong and insistent in Ianto's posture that made him feel as though he wasn't allowed. "Listen, about what I said – "

"Jack. I am going to say this once. _I love you_. I know what I want, but you clearly don't. I don't want to be all girly, but I need to think about me right now." Jack tried to interrupt but Ianto's steely gaze silenced him in a moment. "I need space. You made it clear that _you can't handle what I've become._ I respect you enough to admit that I'm finding it hard to deal too, but you're not making it better. Come back to me when you're certain you know what you want – even if it's _not_ me. But I won't be changing any time soon."

And with that, Ianto shut the door in his face, while Jack swore he saw a line of silver trace it's way down his cheek.

* * *

Ianto wiped his eyes, sighed deeply, and slumped against the front door for a moment, until he heard Jack departing. The flat was darkened, a lone light shining from his room.

Suddenly, a silhouette broke the stream of light, and Ianto took in the tanned form of Charlton, wrapped in a duvet against the cold. He could just see a sliver of bruised chest between the blankets, and licked his lips nervously. The younger man commented wryly, "You dressed quickly. Do you do this often?" There was a strange tone to his voice; it was tinted with uncertainty. Ah, that's right; Charlton had never done anything like this before.

"I try not to make a habit of it," Ianto said, turning with a quirk of his eyebrow, "It was Jack. I…don't want to tell him. About this."

"You ashamed?"

Ianto smiled slightly, "I was shagging my boss. I don't get ashamed anymore." When Charlton still looked uncertain, he calmly wrapped his arms around him, and said, "Calm down. No. I don't know what this, this thing between us is, but I'm not ashamed of it. Go back to bed, I'll be in in a moment."

Charlton smiled slightly, kissing his cheek and holding a hand to it for a moment, "Things will get better, Ianto." He shuffled back into the bedroom, leaving Ianto bewildered  
and hoping that this time  
that was true.


	27. My Hero Can't Break Thru

_A/N: Hey guys, remember me? :) Thank you all for the fantastic response to the last chapter, and I'm really pleased no one is sharpening their pitchfork for the little IantoCharlton thing there. Believe me when I say this is all leading up to something. I think with this chapter, some of you may well get what I'm hinting at, and if you do, clever you. ;) A lot of things happen this chapter. We're nearing the end of arc 2 (just three more chapters after this, I think, up to chapter 30) and I have definite plans for a third arc. However, a fourth arc is still debatable, depending on how you all like the third one. Anyways, I digress. Song for this chapter is, somewhat bizarrely, a mash-up of 'My Hero' by Foo Fighters and 'Can't Break Thru' by Busted. Big love guys, enjoy. :)  
_

* * *

The next morning he left early; he was dressed and out of the door, with a thermos of coffee in tow, by 7. He left Charlton to sleep, leaving a note telling him to help himself to breakfast and shower, and that he'd be back by 9.

Really, he just needed to get away from that room. It was always too enclosed for his liking, and lying there in the dark with a warm body pressed against him, nerve endings tingling from the night before, it was just too hot and there were too many unsaid things hanging over his head.

Charlton was a deep sleeper – well, he supposed he was tired. Walking around all day with broken ribs clearly took it out of him, let alone sleeping with a work colleague for the first time.

Ianto sighed, rubbing his eyes tiredly, and taking a sip of his coffee he looked out over the Plass. The bench was solid and reassuring and the cold Welsh air cleared his mind somewhat from its sex-addled fog.

He didn't love Charlton, which he supposed could be a problem in the long run. He wasn't sure whether this thing would be long run – he and Jack, no matter what their thing was, would always be long run. They were_ in life_ for the long run, and when you've been so tied to a person and you're both not getting any older there was no use trying to live life apart.

Whether life together could translate to _love_; well, that was a different kettle of fish.

Ianto wrinkled his nose, tipping his head back to rest on the high back of the bench. It wasn't love, with Charlton, but it was something very pleasant, something he selfishly craved more of. He imagined this was how Jack must feel most of the time.

He enjoyed the quiet of the wide, open space, and then suddenly Learner was at his side, dressed casually in his human form. The leather jacket and worn blue jeans reminded him of Owen. He half expected him to call him 'tea boy'.

"Ianto. We have a problem."

Taking a sip of his coffee, Ianto grimaced, "When do we not?"

"It's Cath. I need another Official soon – I don't know which way she'll go."

"Is it going to happen soon? The whole giving birth shebang?"

Learner sighed, and it was a defeated sound. He rubbed his eyes in a very human gesture and said, "God, I think so. If anything she's a little _late_. I need to get back soon, just in case…" He looked into Ianto's eyes, and somehow Ianto couldn't quite look away. In such an unremarkable face, Learner's eyes, a faded jade colour, really were remarkable.

"All I'm saying is that we need to find someone soon. I need help."

Learner left, and Ianto watched his departing back, nose wrinkled in thought. Seemed like only yesterday he'd died and they'd brought him back – he wondered who there had been before him, and what happened to them.

He didn't think he wanted to find out.

* * *

He woke up tangled in the duvet, warm and tingling all over.

It would have been much more pleasant if the Doctor hadn't been casually sitting in Ianto's place on the bed, on top of the duvet, thumbing through the Welshman's worn copy of…_1984_?

"Oh, good, you're awake. You know, I'd forgotten how good this was," Glancing at Charlton, he smiled wryly, "How're the ribs?"

As if on cue, pain throbbed through them, and Charlton found himself wincing and gasping slightly from the shock. He twisted carefully onto his back, propping himself upright on the pillows but keeping the duvet on. He was thankful he'd put boxers on when Jack had made his midnight call. Just in case.

"I'm gonna take that as 'They're caning rather a lot, thank you Doctor'. What can I say, Charlton? You win some, you lose some." The Doctor gave him a serious look, and it was at that precise moment that Charlton noted he was wearing no shoes – they sat, together, at the side of the bed. It was a strangely polite gesture for someone who barged into peoples' apartments at the wrong time, unannounced.

"Where's Ianto?" Charlton questioned blithely, looking around and stopping to admire the way the sunlight was streaming in through the translucent curtains, casting the entire room in a white glow.

"He's stepped out for a while. I've only really got a small window here, Charlton, so I'll make it quick. Things are going to start changing very quickly for you, and for Ianto, to some extent. You will hear some things you don't like, and some you do. However, things will get better for you –_ I promise_, they will." There was a strange tone to the Doctor's voice, as though he was trying to convince himself that what he was saying was true. Charlton frowned.

"And Ianto? Will things get better for him?"

There was an eerily long pause before the Doctor replied, hesitantly, "_Eventually_. Now, I must be off." He left the book on the bedside table, propped open, almost falling flat on its spine from repeated readings. He quietly swept out of the apartment; Charlton waited until he heard the front door click before he looked at what page the Doctor had left it at.

He shivered, reading:

'_And perhaps you might pretend, afterwards, that it was only a trick and that you just said it to make them stop and didn't really mean it. But that isn't true. At the time when it happens you do mean it. You think there's no other way of saving yourself and you're quite ready to save yourself that way. You want it to happen to the other person. You don't give a damn what they suffer. All you care about is yourself.'_

He wondered who this was directed at; and then he thought maybe he knew.

* * *

_She screamed again, once; short, staccato, full of pain. In a fleeting moment she was thankful there was no one around, and then she hoped with all her heart Learner would return soon._

_She hurried down the hall, placing her hand on the finger-print recognition pad to open the medical ward. The door clicked in acceptance, deadlocks lifting, and then fell open. She didn't bother to shut it again, only half-ran to the nearest bed._

_Finding a vein and putting in an IV of nutrients they'd prepared for this moment, she slid a blood-pressure cuff around her other arm and took a measurement._

_It was no use. It was too high for her to try and slow things down. _Looks like I'll have to do this by myself,_ Cath thought grimly, then shut her eyes._

* * *

Gwen sighed deeply. Rhys rolled his eyes, putting down his knife and fork. Looking at his pregnant wife, he chewed, swallowed, wiped his mouth with his napkin, and said, "You've got the look."

Gwen looked up, confused and disorientated, "What? What look?"

"That _Torchwood-is-being-mental_ look. The look you've had a lot recently."

His wife sighed again, but now it was apologetically. She squeezed his hand, "I'm sorry, Rhys. There's a lot going on at the Hub right now, and well…for once, it's not about aliens. Or, you know, _'Torchwood-y stuff'_," she air-quoted, "as you so eloquently put it time and time again."

Here Rhys grinned, stabbing a piece of steak with his fork and eating it. With his mouth full, he questioned, "So just what's going on at Torchwood lately?"

"You know how Ianto was with Jack?"

"Yeah, I seem to remember something about a greenhouse…"

Gwen punched him lightly, "Stop it. That's not happening anymore."

"The greenhouse shenanigans?" Another punch. "Okay, stop punching me!"

"The relationship. I think they're having problems. You remember the new guy, Charlton?"

"Don't tell me. Took a liking to Jack, Jack got distracted from Ianto?"

There was a strange expression on Gwen's face as she nonchalantly ate her pasta. Like she was trying not to say something and was waiting for it to dawn on him. Rhys smacked his forehead, as it finally clicked into place, "Oh. Oh my _god_."

Gwen nodded fervently, her voice verging on the hysterical from the withheld gossip, "I know, right?! It's just so unlike him! Ianto always seemed like a one-partner kind of guy, then…_this_." She flapped her hands a lot as she spoke, attempting to stress her shock and awe to him.

"With the new guy?"  
"I can't be sure. Maybe. I tried to tell him not to, but he seemed pretty set on what he wanted to do."

"Which was, namely…?"

"Oh, don't make me say it, Rhys. Eat your steak."

The couple finished their dinner and went to tidying the dishes. Gwen took drying duty as Rhys washed them in the sink full of suds. Rhys grinned, "Well, makes a nice change. You know, it being relationship drama rather than Torchwood-y stuff."

Gwen's brow was creased in worry, and he frowned, "What's up?"

She turned her doe-like eyes on him, and studied his face for a moment before speaking, "You won't think I'm mad, will you? Promise you won't."

Drying his hands and then rubbing her arms soothingly, Rhys said, "'Course I won't. It's me, Gwen, not some stranger."

"Well…" she fiddled with her sleeves, and then pressed on, "Daria and I…we have this strange _feeling_. Like something big is about to happen and we can't do anything to stop it."

Pulling Gwen close to him and kissing her hair, Rhys sighed, "To be honest, love, it wouldn't surprise me. But I won't let anything happen to you, cariad, you know that."

Looking up, Gwen smiled, and he admired the way her skin glowed in the dim light of the kitchen, "I know, Rhys. I do love you."

* * *

Daria sighed, tapping her pen against her clipboard anxiously, frowning in thought as she stared at the notes she'd taken from Charlton's check-up.

There was no way. This was genuinely the strangest thing she'd seen in well…not all of her Torchwood career, because there had been the man with all of his bones broken, but certainly all of her medical career.

Charlton's ribs were…well, nearly all fixed.

She put the x-rays back up against the backlight again, just to be sure, but there was no doubt about it – his ribs had fixed themselves in about half the usual time. This was strange and unexplainable and had her worrying an awful lot.

She idly wondered if fast healing could be catching, thinking of Ianto. She dismissed the errant thought immediately – _no. That cannot be possible._

Tapping her pen against her head thoughtfully, she pulled up the medical files on all of Torchwood's current staff, just to check no-one else had experienced this kind of miraculous recovery. They hadn't; it seemed Charlton was a case on his own.

"But how…" she muttered, flicking through his somewhat scarce file, "…is he doing it?"

* * *

By the time Learner got back, the room was calm and still. She heard his footsteps only when he got close to the room, only heard his breath when it halted and came back in short, stunted gasps.

She heard him, muffled, when he said, "Oh, God, _Cath_!" and pressed his hand urgently against the pad, opening the door and hurrying to her side.

The sheets were almost dry, but she knew he was horrified. Deep blue, like ink, had seeped out of her every pore, had stained the bed through to the mattress. She watched him silently as he noticed the pool of it on the floor.

"It bled out of me, Learner. All of the Umbreyta, every bit, once I'd given birth to her," she gestured to the bundle in her arms, "just beaded up out of each of my pores and came out."

"There is no afterbirth," he offered, "only that. Though, you could have stayed that way."

She shifted, uncomfortable, and the infant in her arms snuffled in its slumbering state, "I'm sore. All over. I think…I think I'm human again, Learner." She turned her dark eyes on him, and he felt that maybe there was some new depth to them, honey tones that weren't there before, "I felt the spikes recede and the colour bleed out of me, but then I felt stinging and saw poison drip from my body."

He kissed her on the head, and used the opportunity to look at his daughter. He felt his very human breath catch at the sight of her, roseate, asleep in a bundle of white blankets. Strange, how there were so many staining substances around, but none of it had even _touched_ her.

Confused, he turned to Cath, "I feel different. Like there's something warm in my chest."

"I think we're having a rom-com moment Learner, and I think that's called love."

Defeated, Cath flumped against the pillows for a moment, holding the child out to him, "Take her. I need to change beds…" she glanced down, saw her clothes were soaked through with blue, "…and clothes. Meet _our_ daughter." She looked up at him as he took their daughter from her, and smiled, and he felt gratified to see at least fondness for him marked in the curve of her lips.

Perhaps even love; different, but very much the same.

She moved slowly, very slowly, but eventually she shuffled into the adjoining bathroom to change. He heard running water and guessed she was having a wash, and decided he couldn't blame her. Learner looked around the room, briefly, noticing the discarded blood pressure cuff and IV. He tutted – they'd have to clean so much later, have to organize so much; but now all he knew was the child in his arms and the woman in the next room. His daughter and his…well, words couldn't quite _describe_ what Cath meant to him.

He settled himself into a chair, and let himself change into his Umbreyta form silently, the change a scant shimmer in the air. He sighed with relief, and then looked down at her; he never expected to see a pair of startling, deep green eyes staring back at him.

"Hello," he began, starting to bring a hand up to touch that tiny face, to stroke her downy hair. Pride swelled in his chest as she latched onto a finger and wouldn't let go.

In that moment  
he was only there, with her,  
and nothing else in the world mattered.

* * *

_A/N: Forgot to mention in the main author's note that I do not have any rights to any part of '1984' by George Orwell. His work is quoted in this purely for impact, and no copyright infringement is intended. You rock, Orwell. Respect._


	28. Praise Chorus

_A/N: This was hard to write, because I've had a lot on my plate at the moment, with revision for exams and various problems my friends have been having in their lives. Thanks so much to the 3 reviewers I had last chapter - honestly, I felt the last chapter was the best I've ever written, and I'm so glad you guys enjoyed it too. Take this one with a pinch of salt - some stuff you may not like, but it's all happening for a reason. Song for this is 'Praise Chorus' by Jimmy Eat World - it was going to be 'Sweetness', but that didn't fit in the end. Enjoy.  
_

* * *

He got the call a couple of days later. For a few moments he didn't recognize Learner's voice – there was a catch in his throat that had not been there before.

"Ianto," he said, "Ianto, I have a daughter. Cath and I have a _daughter_."

He went on to ask Ianto to come to the Basement and bring Gwen Cooper-Williams with him, then hung up, while Ianto longed to have a smile in his voice like Learner's.

He and Charlton had stayed casual at work, but he knew Jack was watching them like a hawk; once, he let his fingers linger on Charlton's when handing him a cup of coffee, and slowly raised his eyebrow at Jack.

Jack turned away with a sigh. Ianto almost wanted to frown at himself.

He and Gwen obligingly went to the Basement, and found Cath and Learner in a strange new room he didn't remember. It was quiet and warm and painted Naples yellow, with a cot next to a large, and heavily cushioned, double bed. The light in the room mimicked light streaming through large windows, and there sat Cath, on the bed, a baby in her arms.

Gwen gasped and hurried to her side, cooing over the infant and putting an arm around Cath, in a friendly way, as if by instinct. He had noticed Cath was different, and supposed Gwen did too.

Learner was in his Umbreyta form, and he stood hands with Ianto briskly, with a smile, and the Welshman did not balk at the sight of the three rows of pointed teeth. He smiled back, and murmured, "Congratulations. Now, what did you _really_ want to talk to me about?"

Glancing back at Cath, Learner signed that he was going out for a second, and Cath signed back 'okay' with a smile.

The alien let Ianto out to the hallway and said quietly, "You know what this means. You know she's not the same."

"Well, I'm just happy she survived, really."

"She survived, _by herself_. I wasn't there for the birth."

"Is she…well, human?"

"Completely. There's no trace of the Official left. You'll notice the tattoos are completely gone, and the Umbreyta."

"Hmmm. You'll need a replacement soonish, then. She can still work the technology, though."

"I need _you_. _Now_. I'm afraid this is an emergency; I'm transferring you over to the Basement until we can find a suitable permanent replacement."

"One condition: I get my own, private, room. No CCTV allowed."

"Do I get to ask why?"

"No."

"Well, okay then." Glancing back to the room, Learner smiled. Ianto watched the alien's eyes soften.

"You love her, don't you?"

And then Learner turned his blank, white eyes to Ianto, and in them Ianto saw an answer, and realized there was no question in the first place.

* * *

When Ianto and Gwen returned from the Basement, Jack noticed something was wrong.

Never mind the fact that Charlton was back at work, dressed all in black as per usual, but with a new and secret smile laced onto his lips. There was a drawn look on Ianto's face, and his lips were pressed so tightly together they had all but disappeared.

Charlton noticed too, apparently. He caught Ianto's arm, with a questioning look. Ianto stared at him for a moment, before catching his hand in a barely noticeable gesture, and squeezing it.

Jack swallowed at this point, and looked away. When he looked back, Ianto was putting his coat on the rack and heading up the stairs.

Heading to _his_ office. _Oh, shit_. Turning from the window, Jack quickly moved to behind his desk, and stared blankly at the pile of paperwork that awaited him. Well, heck, he did it often enough, at least it was realistic.

Quietly, Ianto entered his office, and Jack looked up sharply, "Ianto?"

He watched Ianto's face go through several expressions, and felt his heart melt. This guy, this coffee-boy, was special. In a way he'd not seen before, and doubted he would see again. He knew all the emotions, all the feelings Ianto was holding back, like the back of his hand, because he was holding them back, too.

Gesturing with his hand to the chair opposite, Jack said, in a voice crackling out of lack of use, "Ianto, maybe you should sit down." He saw the slight, barely discernable quiver in Ianto's fingertips, and recognized it immediately.

Relief rushed to the Welshman's face as he took a seat, and put his head into shaking heads. Brow crinkling in worry, Jack sighed, "You get used to it. You don't get over it, but you learn to cope." This brought a wry laugh from the younger man, "Well, I suppose at least you're not lying to me."

Sitting up and sinking into the chair, Ianto looked at Jack carefully, his eyes guarded, "There is a problem at the Basement. Cath had the baby."

"Is that the problem?"

"No. The problem is something else entirely. My problem is how to deal with it – and the fact I'll be dealing with things like this forever, now. Until someone figures out to behead me or something."

Then the look in the Welshman's eyes was completely raw, and sad. His grey eyes seemed silver in the light of the room, and he said hopelessly, "Jack, I've made such a mess. I don't quite know what to do."

Jack reached across the table, and took his hand, and squeezed it lightly, before letting go, mimicking Ianto's action to Charlton. With a heavy sigh, he said, "Well, you've got time to sort it out. I've made a lot of messes over my lifetime, but I've always been able to sort them out. That is," he paused, blue eyes lingering on Ianto, "all except one. One is yet to be sorted."

And in his heart of hearts, Ianto knew what Jack meant.

* * *

Thankfully, the entire team (apart from himself and Gwen, of course) went out on a Weevil hunt, which gave Charlton some time to think.

Things will get better for you, Charlton. The Doctor's words echoed in his head, and he sighed, coming at a loss to their meaning. He had promised that his life would get better; Charlton only wished it would start sooner, rather than later.

He'd hated the look on Ianto's face and he wasn't quite sure why. There had been an unbearable regret in his eyes and Charlton desperately wanted to know what it meant.

He sighed deeply, listening to the sounds of the team moving over his comm, and switched on the microphone.

"Okay, the Weevil should be down the alley to your left. It's rifling through some rubbish, should be easy to take care of."

Jack's voice answered, smooth and American in his ears, "Thanks Charlton, we'll take it from here."

He switched off his microphone again, and then turned to Gwen, "They've taken care of it; let me drive you home."

"Are you sure, love? I don't want to be a bother, I can ring Rhys and ---"

"--- _Gwen_. It's fine," he smiled, and picked up his car keys from the table, jingling them, "Let Rhys sleep. It'll be a nice surprise, you back this early."

"Well, alright then." She took the arm he proffered, and they walked to his car.

* * *

He heard Charlton coming in, and looked up from his perusal of the other man's books. Charlton, to his credit, only allowed his eyes to widen slightly in shock, but then yawned widely and smiled, rubbing his eyes, "Hey."

Somehow in the stark lighting of the flat, Charlton still looked…well, _lovely_. Not Jack's kind of lovely, all hard angles and bright teeth, but something subtler, messier, less certain. He almost felt like it…_they_…could work out.

_Almost._

"I used the key under your potted plant," Ianto offered, with a small smile. To his surprise, Charlton simply walked past him, kissed him on the cheek as he passed, and slumped onto the sofa, flicking on the TV.

It was some trite romcom and suddenly Ianto's life had become a big cliché, watching crap TV with a significant other. _Outside of the immortality and crazy job, that is._ He sat down next to Charlton, who was watching the romcom with a vaguely crazed look in his eyes.

"Ianto?"

"Charlton?"

"I'd like to know why you were so weird today."

Ianto looked at Charlton now, and was surprised to meet the warmth of the other man's eyes. There was fear there, but mainly anger; a lot of anger.

"You know I can't tell you that. Basement stuff."  
"It's to do with me, I can tell. And don't bullshit me, Ianto, don't even _try_ to lie."

This caught him off guard – Charlton had never sworn before, in Ianto's memory.

"Okay, then. I'm being transferred to the Basement for a while, until they find a new Official. Cath had her baby and now she's fully human. There's nothing of the Basement left in her, unlike me, so…yeah."

"That's not all."

"No. It isn't."

Ianto couldn't stand the petulance in Charlton's eyes, and quickly sorted through possible escape routes from this situation. The defiant glare was wearing him down.

He decided to play dirty.

* * *

Lying in bed with Charlton later on, watching the rise and fall of the other's chest, Ianto traced the curve of Charlton's cheek, wondering how he'd cope when everything came crashing down.

Because while it wasn't love, it felt damn close.


	29. Buildings

_A/N: So here it is, the last chapter in this arc where anything happens. It's a long one, and an epilogue will follow. Thanks for the lovely reviews last chapter, I've replied to them all because they mean so much to me, really. This one was very difficult to write right, because it's quite dark (I know, what else is new?) but I think I got it right eventually. I'd say the song for it is probably 'Buildings' by General Fiasco, a great band that a close friend introduced me to, and I've been listening to them non-stop since. I hope you'll give the song a listen, because it really fits. Anyways, I digress. I promise the epilogue will be more cheerful. Also, I'd love to break 150 reviews by the end of arc 2, so please do review! Enjoy!  
_

* * *

Ianto left early, as usual. Now that he was working at the Basement, it was a little obnoxious of him to have stayed at Charlton's at all.

Strolling into the darkened corridors of the base, he headed directly to the room they had given him, shut the door, and sighed.

It was a very nice room, by all accounts. White walls, wood floors, a double bed and a desk and chair. A wardrobe, where he was keeping his suits now. He idly thought of his own flat, abandoned and cold, apart from that last time Charlton had been there.

Funny how a guy dressed all in black could brighten a place up.

He sat down at the desk and opened his laptop, turning it on and waiting for it to warm up. Immediately the CCTV feed for Cath and Learner (and their baby) came up, and he saw they were all asleep, baby included. Minimizing it, he checked the news, then his email.

Well, one new mail message. The sender's email address was blocked, and there was no subject heading, but Ianto went right ahead and opened it, rubbing a hand over his lips in puzzlement:

_'You know you have to do it soon. You can't leave him like this for much longer. Ianto, until you do this, things cannot get better for you. So let me do my damn job. You humans and your interfering – sometimes I really wish I didn't need consent from you.'_

There was no doubting who it was from, which made Ianto frown. He knew exactly what the Doctor was talking about – sure, his thoughts seemed jumbled, and a little incoherent, but that was his way. Timelords and their time fetishes, etcetera.

It was true he was probably being selfish, holding all of it back. Putting it off, so to speak. But all he could see in his future was a freight-train of misery hurtling towards him, and longed to hold it back a little longer.

All he could think of was Charlton's future, and how he wasn't in it.

* * *

He woke up that morning feeling angry and happy all at once. Being with Ianto was a real thrill, but the context of it…well, Ianto had been playing _dirty_.

Charlton was not surprised, however, to see the Doctor seated in the armchair, reading one of Charlton's own books, pulled from the bookcase. He could see the gap in the regular arrangement of the books, and recalled which book it must be.

"_A Doll's House_?" he questioned, pushing himself into a sitting position, and looking inquisitively at the Doctor, "Never took you for an Ibsen fan, really."

Turning a page, the Doctor murmured, as if to himself, "Oh, well, I'm just a fan of human literature, really…" Looking up, he said loudly, "_Your ribs_. They've healed, haven't they? They've healed, but you didn't even notice. How do you suppose that happened, Charlton? You'd think you'd realize your ribs healed too quickly, but no, you _didn't._" The young man was frowning now, a childlike fear shining in his eyes as he looked into Charlton's.

Dimly, Charlton recalled his ribs being broken. They were meant to have been that way for a long time, a very long time considering how many he'd broken, but how long had it been? A month, five weeks?

"I…" he began, faltering, "I…I guess I'm just a fast healer."

_"No,"_ the Doctor emphasized, "that's the funny thing. You're not. You're not _meant_ to be. And yet somehow, you _are._ This is the start of a big journey for you, Charlton, and you will remember eventually. You _will._"

Then he got up, and left, leaving Charlton with a mind bursting with dim memories just resurfacing, and no answers to any of the questions he'd wanted to ask. Tutting, he noticed the Doctor had left the book open, its spine cracking, and he picked it up.

Almost by accident, he glanced at the page.

_'Something glorious is going to happen.'_

It was then that Charlton realized he had not heard the front door's light click, signalling its closure. And it was then he heard the faint breathing in the room with him.

Then, darkness.

* * *

It took him all of five minutes watching the feed of Cath and Learner to know it was fake.

Running down the halls, he eventually skidded to a halt and peered through the small window put in the door.

Cath, and baby, but no Learner. For a fleeting second she thought of asking Cath if she knew where Learner had gone, but the scene before him, of sleeping mother and child, was too beautiful to disturb. He moved on.

He found himself on autopilot to the main CCTV room for the Basement, and slid into the chair, studying all of the screens carefully. Reviewing the past few hours, he saw Learner leaving the Basement furtively, and heading towards the main city centre.

Thinking back to his meeting with Learner, Ianto frowned, and felt he knew just where Learner was headed.

"_Ianto…one other thing. We have a list of prospective Officials, in order of preference. I think…I think you need to see it."_

_Ianto took note of the extremely human hesitance present in Learner's voice, "Getting soft are we, Learner? Here, let me see it."_

_With a moment's reluctance, Learner handed him the printed sheet of paper, and folded his arms._

_It couldn't be true. Looking at the list of names, there was no way._

"_No."_

"_Ianto, these people are the ones best matched to our lifestyle. We can eliminate number 3, because of her current condition, but the rest…they all fit. Especially number 1."_

"_Learner, I am telling you _no. _This is madness."_

"_Is it? We're in a new age, Ianto. We didn't take Torchwood's people ever before because they were living in an easier time. But now…"_

_The next thing Learner knew, Ianto had him by the throat, and had pushed him hard against the wall. He could hear his spines creaking in protest as they were mashed against the damp steel, could feel the roughness scratching at his fingertips from their place on Learner's neck. He ignored the pulse of thick blood beneath the alien's skin, and growled._

_In those wide, white eyes, Ianto could see the terrible expression on his face. He barely looked human as he pressed his face close to Learner's and said, "No."_

_He threw the paper back at Learner, releasing his throat, and punched the wall, leaving a deep dent in it. "Why?" he whispered, harshly, "Tell me why _him._"_

"_His ribs, Ianto. He's practically made for this life. The Doctor took him from his time all those years ago to make sure he would be here for us _now_."_

_Strangely, he could feel tears in his eyes, but ignored them, "We are not doing anything about this until I figure out if there's an alternative. That's it."_

_Here, to his surprise, Learner had switched to his human form, and walked towards Ianto, backing him up against the wall until he could feel the dampness spreading through his jacket into his shirt. Learner leant closely to his face, studying him like a specimen for dissection, before going straight for the thorax._

"_You're not the senior Official here, Ianto Jones," he whispered, before shoving him and going back into the nursery.

* * *

_

He was in a car, that much he could tell. Despite the heavy blindfold, he could sense movement, hear the engine and the wheels against the road, could reach out and touch the tasteless plastic interior of the car.

The window on his side was open, and blowing warm, summer air into his face. It was simultaneously pleasant and nauseating. Presumably someone was driving, so he asked, after clearing his throat, "Can I ask where we're going?"

A beat, then, "No."

It was a pleasant voice, normal, but he could tell from the way he could feel no body heat coming from the individual, despite their close proximity, that this person was not all that they seemed.

"I can tell you we don't usually take people alive. You're lucky."

Charlton nodded, turning towards the warm air, because it was better than wondering if the mystery person was right.

* * *

_"Jack!"_

The immortal turned at the call, seeing Ianto skidding into the Hub. Daria and Gwen had not yet arrived, as Gwen was at an appointment with her obstetrician, and Daria was stuck in traffic. Ianto's absence had hit him pretty hard, but somehow, seeing him now didn't cheer him up as he expected.

It was the look of horror on his face that he couldn't stand. Ianto hurried to him and said, "Jack, the Basement's taken Charlton. I've been trying to find a way they wouldn't need to, a way to save him from what they're going to do to him, but Learner…he just went and _took_ him. Jack, I don't know what to do."

Well, damn. It was the day of the exes, for Jack, as he turned at the sound of the lift descending, and saw the Doctor on it.

_Holy shit._

There he was, some strange avenging angel, that new, young face catching the shadows and light in a frightening way. He stared at them both, and jumped off of the platform before it had even reached the ground.

"Stop, Ianto," the quiet musical voice said, and Jack still felt that familiar twinge when he listened to him speak. There was time in that voice, and space, and all those things Jack had seen, back when he wasn't broken and wrong.

"Why? Why can't I stop this?" The sound of Ianto's voice brought Jack back from his musings, and he turned to see a heartbreaking expression on the Welshman's face. Frowning, he asked, "You…don't _love_ him, do you?"

Ianto's gaze softened, "_He_ loves _me_. I've got to help him."

And somehow Jack knew then that they'd slept together. That it had come to mean something to Ianto, even if it wasn't love.

And suddenly, he wanted to help, even if it killed him.

"Doctor, there's gotta be something we can do," Jack said, opening his hands, "I can't lose another team member already."

"Jack, you know perfectly well that your team is already slightly bigger than necessary. I can't let you interfere – this is one of my biggest projects, and I won't let you ruin it. I missed _12 years_ for this," the Doctor said, folding his arms, "and the little Scottish girl I let down _still won't let me forget it._"

Ignoring the last nonsensical statement, Jack pressed, "There has to be a way."

A shake of the head, definitive, "No. There _doesn't._"

Sirens wailed behind them, and Jack turned just in time to see Ianto leaving through the Hub door. He rubbed his eyes, and felt the Doctor pat him on the shoulder, "He still can't fix it, Jack."

Turning back to the Doctor, Jack looked up, "You're taller this time, I keep forgetting. Doctor, what are you doing here?"

"Fixing a crack in a wall, Jack. It's what I always do."

* * *

The blindfold was off. He blinked a few times, then found himself faced with wide, white eyes, and cold radiating from the body they were attached to.

Indigo skin, shimmering faintly in the dim light, and spines sprouting from his back, legs and arms – Charlton's captor was definitely dangerous. Swallowing, he asked awkwardly, "So you're the one who kidnapped me."

A low chuckle resonated in the alien's throat, and he smiled, revealing three rows of pointed, razor-sharp teeth. Charlton felt the blood drain from his face, but then the creature said, "My name is Learner, Charlton Harrison. I'm here to save you from your life, and make things better."

A thought fluttered through Charlton's mind. _Things will get better for you –__ I promise__, they will._

"What makes you think I need saving?" Charlton asked, more like a plea than anything. It was then that he noticed the huge, hulking bit of machinery to his side, like a primitive computer, and the equally large screen before him. Learner pushed a button, and the screen came to life.

It was his life. All the little moments, all the memories. His family, his first family, _happiness_, the Georgian era, then his new family, his new _life_. Working some bland desk job while hacking things at night, then Torchwood. Then _Ianto._ Then now.

"Tell me, Mr. Harrison. Tell me when there you weren't performing tricks for someone. That's how you've survived, isn't it? It's because of all these people that you've made nothing of your life."

The paraphrasing of _'A Doll's House'_ was not lost on Charlton. Rendered mute for a moment, he looked up at Learner, eyes honest, "Ianto. I never performed tricks for him."

"Ah, yes," Learner said, grinning again, "Ianto. The exception who proves the rule. You love him deeply, don't you? Is the feeling mutual?"

Thinking only of Ianto, Charlton shook his head, and listened as footsteps entered the room, followed by ragged breathing.

"Learner," the Welsh voice said, "Learner, what are you doing to him?"

"I am freeing him of you. Isn't that what you want, Ianto? All the guilt, that you've been going behind Harkness' back, that you don't love him back, to be gone, along with his memories of it?" Learner turned back to Charlton, "You'd like to forget your life, I'm sure."

Charlton turned his head, and stared at Ianto carefully. Ianto ducked his head, undoing the ropes binding Charlton to the chair, and then looked back at him.

He could feel a strange hopefulness building in his chest when he thought of what Learner had said; the past year had been such a blur he'd not had time to process what it all really meant. See how he really felt - which was, in essence, miserable, save for the few fleeting, sun-bleached moment he'd had with Ianto. He knew those moments had happened for different reasons to why he wanted them to happen, and he felt his heart clench; he knew what he had to do.

"I wondered, once, where we'd go. You know, once we'd slept together. I think I knew in the back of my mind that it would be nowhere. You know the feeling I got when I saved Gwen?"

"Yeah, I remember."

"I have that feeling right now. Like this is the thing I was made to do."

"Your memory," Ianto said, "Your memory is what made me realize what Learner had been telling me was true. You don't remember, do you? You've met Learner before, in his human form, and he injected you with a dilute form of the injection when you were just a kid. Gave you that incredible memory, fixed your ribs. That vaccine is the thing that made you save Gwen. Made you remember everything you've ever learned. Made you love a monster like me."

The memory flickered into life then, bright and burning, and he could remember when he was stranded in the future, the man coming out of the shadows. Perfectly normal looking, until he pulled the syringe out and plunged it into the young Charlton Harrison's neck. Learner's eyes sparked in recognition, "Very good, Ianto, very good indeed."

"I looked in the archives, Learner. It was easy, _for me._"

"Learner," Charlton started, no shake left in his voice, "What is going to happen now?"

"We'll give you the injection again, the full one. We'll put a memory block in your brain. You won't remember your life – well, you'll remember the Doctor, and Torchwood, but only the people, not that you worked there, or your relation to any of them. You'll remember your families, but only dimly. You won't remember being dumped in the future, or the past, or who you were beforehand…"

Ianto's face looked parched and empty of colour as he stared at Charlton, who kept his eyes on him while Learner spoke. There was a horrible, sad look in the Welshman's eyes that he wished would just go - maybe now it would. He knew Ianto didn't love him; he'd hoped, since he met him, that one day he would. But now he realized, one hundred captured moments running through his brain, that there was only one person for Ianto - and it just wasn't _him_.

"I won't remember you," Charlton said, simply, looking at Ianto. He turned to Learner, who had the syringe in his hands, and then back to Ianto, "I won't remember what you mean to me. Ianto, I think I need to forget. For you. You need to live your life. Be with Jack, get out of the Basement and back into Torchwood. I've done nothing with my life, let me do _this_. Let me forget you."

He turned to Learner, and stood, holding his hand out for the syringe, and quietly asked, "Where do I inject it?"

"Just into your tissue, neck would be best. The trial run went there," Learner pressed a cool finger to Charlton's neck, and he dimly remembered there had always been a small, round scar there, though until now he'd never bothered to remember why.

The syringe was cool in his hands, full of a sinister green solution that burned his retinas with the fierceness of its colour. Charlton watched Ianto wet his lips and say helplessly, "Charlton, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Ianto Jones," Ianto stopped, and Charlton smiled, raising the syringe to his neck and pushing it in with barely a wince, "I loved you."

And he depressed the syringe, dropping like dead weight to the ground.

* * *

Ianto still helped Learner move Charlton to the resting chamber. They didn't usually take Officials alive, but Charlton was 'made for this', apparently.

God, he was tired. Maybe_ now_, he could sleep.

"You don't need to be an Official for now, Ianto. When Charlton wakes up, he'll be fine, almost ready made. The dilute solution already did a lot for us."

Learner's voice was almost sympathetic, and that was somehow worse. Just like how he hadn't loved Charlton, and that made seeing him pale under his tan and sweating from the injection so much worse.

"Okay. I'll go home, then."

As he left he saw Cath and her baby standing in a doorway. The baby raised her tiny hand and waved. In spite of everything, Ianto waved back.

And then his feet were carrying him home; not to his apartment, but to the place that knew him best.

* * *

"Ianto?" Jack questioned, raising his eyebrows. Ianto said nothing, just went straight down to Jack's rooms and went to sleep.

Hours later, half-conscious, Ianto felt arms around him, and smelt a familiar smell. Jack had joined him. His heart fluttered limply in his chest, despite the weight bearing down on it.

It was hope. Not a lot, but _enough_. Ianto pulled Jack's arms tighter around him and went back to sleep, not caring that his suit would be creased beyond recognition. It seemed like an important part of his life was over, though he knew in his heart more would come - it was only natural, being near-immortal, that a lot of bad stuff would happen. He only hoped a lot of good stuff would happen, too.

Later, he noticed a rip in his suit jacket, and wondered how it got there. Shrugging, he ignored it, putting the suit into a black bin liner. He was going to burn it anyways.

* * *

_A/N: I do not intend any copyright infringement when I use quotations, paraphrased or otherwise, from 'A Doll's House', the play by Henrik Ibsen. Charlton's book collection is researched carefully, and 'A Doll's House' is referenced as its subject matter - as I view it - enhances the character of Charlton, and for no other reason is it used. Ibsen is awesome, give the play a read while you're listening to General Fiasco. :)_


	30. My Delirium

_A/N: Song for the epilogue is Ladyhawke 'My Delirium'. Main A/N at end. Enjoy.  
_

* * *

Life did get better, slowly.

It was waking up in Jack's bed again that told him as much, really. There was always something different about it to anywhere else he'd slept. And slept he did, in long, fitful bouts of slumber, catching up on the hours he'd been skipping.

"You're not indestructible," Jack had said, and Ianto had raised his eyebrow, "Well, you are, but not sleeping takes getting used to. You're still young, Ianto."

Ianto sighed, "Yeah, that's not gonna last long."

Here Jack's brow had creased in consternation, until he finally said, sitting next to Ianto on his bed, and putting an arm around his in a friendly way; he supposed Ianto was still raw from Charlton. That was another talk for another time.

"Ianto," he said, "I wish more than anything in this world that you could have had a normal life. I wish you had never gotten involved with Torchwood One – that's where it all started, isn't it, with Lisa?" Ianto sighed and nodded, glancing away, and Jack continued, "I wish I could have met you normally, we could have been together like a normal couple, without all the weird Torchwood stuff we have to deal with. I wish you hadn't died when you did."

Ianto started to speak, but Jack quieted him with a hand, "No, Ianto, let me finish. Life with me was never gonna be normal. Life being you, special and unique as you are, was never going to be normal. I don't think we can even be normal now – we've been through a whole lot together." He laughed slightly, "But hell, I hope in time we can try again. All we've got is time, Ianto, and I'm not getting any older. And I guess, really, neither are you."

Ianto sat quietly after this, holding Jack's determined blue eyes with his for as long as he possibly could. Finally, he leant in and kissed Jack on the cheek.

"_Thanks_, Jack," he said, laying back down on the bed and pulling the covers over himself, "I hope we can try again too."

He watched as Jack let his gaze linger fondly, then left, flicking off the light switch as he went back up to his office. In the dark, Ianto smiled slightly, missing the warmth of Jack's arm around his shoulders.

* * *

Daria filled in Charlton's final report, in the end.

She was told by Jack in no uncertain terms that Ianto couldn't, _shouldn't_, be allowed to do it, and that Gwen shouldn't even be in the Hub now, so close to her due date. So, the responsibility fell to Daria to do it, and she found herself visiting the Basement for the second time in her entire life, and not through the visitor's entrance.

She'd previously felt the Hub was dreary – now, she realized it was a beacon of warmth and comfort compared to where the Officials spent their time.

"I know you," Charlton had said, his gaze sharp and electric on her face.

"I'm Daria," she smiled, holding out her hand, "We know each other cause I've visited here before. When you were just getting started."

This seemed to make sense to the new Charlton, because he smiled in a strange way that was heartbreakingly similar to his old self but cold, somehow, and said, "That must be it. Let me show you to Learner's office; he's the senior Official here, after all."

The bizarre Charlton-bot walked her down a long, dank corridor to a blindingly white room, all mahogany furniture and shining white linoleum. Daria watched her old colleague's departing back, and found herself frowning minutely at the smooth, artificial way he moved now.

It struck her Ianto should have stayed like that. She wondered why he hadn't.

The Official called Learner's voice beckoned her back to the present, "Ms. Morris. Would you please step into my office?"

That simple request felt very ominous, but she obliged, leaving the door open just a crack.

Learner was an unassuming looking fellow. His face was bland to say the least, with regular dark hair and generically pleasing features, aside from his striking jade eyes which held hers with a magnetic sort of power. She guessed his outward age at about 35, and he was dressed simply, in a white t-shirt and black jeans; but she frowned - he wore no shoes.

Daria reminded herself quietly that she had seen his real form once before here, when she first came to Torchwood. She shuddered at the memory, at the echo of spikes unfurling, the hiss of air between the rows of teeth. The whisper of the forked tongue.

Tearing her eyes from him, she studied the bookcase to her right studiously, and said simply, "I'm here to pick up your report on the Jones-Harrison incident. I'd also like you to tell me why you took Charlton, what processes he has undergone in his entire life, and their effects on him. Why you took him alive would be interesting, too."

"Hm?" Learner said, and she looked at him, surprised to see his gaze focused on her. She frowned again, and he snapped out of his thoughts. "Sorry," he said, "Your face is very interesting to me. Where did you get that scar?" He gestured towards her mouth with his fingers, and she lifted a hand to her lips, rubbing the barely-remembered scar that ran across them.

"When the 456 invaded. I had an altercation with the authorities. I was just a regular doctor at the time." Daria kept her voice staccato, her facts brief.

"Hm. Quite so," Learner said, pulling out a drawer and placing a thick file onto the desk with an equally thick slapping sound, "That is everything I believe you need to know and everything you have asked for. You know, Ms. Morris, I think you've got an interesting life ahead of you. You could have so easily ended up with us, in Mr. Harrison's place."

Daria felt herself flush; whether it was with indignation or fear, she didn't know. Standing briskly, she picked up the file, folding it to her chest, and said, "I don't know who gave you people the right to interfere with our lives and I don't care – you won't find out anything about me. Good day, Mr. Learner."

Learner folded his arms and smiled in a way that made her feel uneasy, "Good day to you too, Ms. Morris. This has been enlightening. But just one thing; we did not _take_ Mr. Harrison. He came _willingly_."

Charlton met her outside the door and walked her back up to surface level. She tried not to look too hard at him for fear she might cry.

* * *

Jack ended up agreeing with Daria; Ianto needed therapy. For everything that had happened, during and post-456.

"No," he'd said, alarmed, "I'm okay. Really. Don't worry yourselves."  
Gwen, Jack and Daria all turned to him, arms folded and stern expressions on their faces. Ianto flinched.  
"But who's going to listen to everything I have to say?" he said, resigned.  
"I will," said Daria, "My medical training covered psychological techniques and therapy. And I'm completely impartial, so you can trust me."

Ianto agreed to it, on one condition.

"It's not fair that I'm being the only messed up one. Jack, you and I both know you have some issues you need to talk about. I'm only doing it if you do it too."  
Jack wrung his hands, "Ianto. My issues are just that: _mine_. I can deal with them."  
"What the hell are you doing Jack? Rejecting our Earth logic and substituting your own just because you don't like where this is going? Daria, how long would I be in therapy for, exactly?"  
"Two months, give or take. Depending on how you progress."  
"Two months, Jack. Give it a try. For me."

Jack gritted his teeth. _Goddamn,_ he thought, looking down at Ianto's beseeching expression, _he's got me there._

"Fine. Two months, no more, no less."

* * *

He liked doing the training exercises, with the disposable droids.

'Like', of course, was a relative term; it could range from bland approval to complete adoration. In this case, it was merely a presumption – he guessed the way he felt about the exercises probably fell into the 'bland approval' category.

He felt a certain camaraderie with Learner, and to a lesser extent Catherine; he knew she had once been the ideal Official, the best of the best, but now her fragile human state repulsed him somewhat.

He recalled he had _been_ human once; he just could not recall what it had been _like_.

Moving seamlessly through the course, he stopped at the end to survey the piles of dust he had reduced the droids to. A small smile flickered to life on his lips; _smugness_, he recognized. Surely he had a right to be smug – he was, after all, the best Official the Basement had in employment.

He flicked dust off the shoulder of his black t-shirt, and moved on.

* * *

Burning the suit seemed appropriate, somehow. He could still smell the antiseptic of the Basement, the dank, humid stench of it. When he had been a full-time Official, it had never even crossed his mind, but now, with his mind free of the block, it was repugnant.

Hey, his vocabulary was returning. That had to be a good sign.

He couldn't quite bring himself to wear his suits again, just yet. He stuck to his old jeans and a series of classy t-shirts, but he was sure soon the suits would return. Ianto felt too…soft, too half-baked to return to them.

He stood in front of the incinerator, feeling slightly stupid. The suit, unwashed, but pressed, was folded in his arms, and Ianto sighed slightly – it had to go. He knew it had to go, and somehow he wanted to hold onto it; the ideal blend of cotton and viscose (he never could stand wool), the black suit was comforting. One of his favourites, ironically.

In one fluid motion, he pulled the door to the incinerator open, and tossed the suit in. He watched it burst into flame, and felt as though a weight had been lifted.

Ianto walked away, head held high.

* * *

She watched him, in the chair opposite, and was amused to notice similarities between him and Ianto.

Both sat seemingly calmly, but she noticed the skittish scratching of nails against the armrests, the nervous way they would not meet her eyes unless she really pressed.

"Look," Jack had said, "I feel weird about this. You know I'm only here because I'm making Ianto do this. He's needed help for a long time."

She nodded, of course – no need to speak, a non-verbal action was more impartial – and said, "So there's nothing you want to talk about? Not…your immortality and how that came to be, not Ianto's death, nor _his_ immortality - everyone around here seems to be immortal, now, I wonder if it's contagious - nor the many losses you've suffered since joining Torchwood in…_1899_?" She punctuated her words with her turning of pages in his file, and raised an eyebrow, "That's a long time, Jack."

At first Jack seemed taken aback at the new size of his file; Daria knew that it had been a scant page at first. Then he raised his eyebrow in retaliation

"You did your research," he said, smoothly.

"All of that was easy to find. Imagine if I pushed myself," she retorted. Closing the file, she folded her arms, "I think I'm going to pick an easy topic for you because you're a difficult person to open up. Tell me about Ianto, as you see him."

There was a sad look in the Captain's eyes when he said, "Oh, Daria, sweetheart, that's the hardest topic of all."

* * *

"Tell you about Jack? God, what can I say that you don't already know?" Ianto said, looking amusedly at Daria, who frowned, "Can you be more specific?"

"What drew you to him, then, in the first place?" she amended, tapping her biro against the clipboard. She noticed her notes about Jack from his last session were still in place – _'Subject hard to crack. Incommunicative at best.'_ – and quickly turned over to a new page.

"I suppose it was what made everyone come to him, really. Jack is just so separate to the real world, even when he's in the middle of it, that he's just interesting. He's something new. With the coat, and the grin," Ianto smiled slightly, "Don't tell me he didn't convince you slightly at the interview to join up."

"Strangely enough, he did," Daria said, with a smile, "But actually you convinced me, Ianto. You're a lot more unusual than you believe you are."

"Am I?" The knowledge drew a wry smile onto the Welshman's lips, "Well, thank you. I dunno, I guess…I guess when Lisa died, it made me let go a little. I hated him for a long time, but I'd been fooling around with him during Lisa. To keep the secret that little bit safer."

This sudden rush of information came as a surprise to Daria, and she couldn't hold back a, "You're a lot more _open_ than Jack."

"I have a lot less experience keeping things in. Last time I did was Lisa – look where that got me. Anyways, to answer your question…it was just the way the real world never quite touched him. He's completely detached from all of that. And the way he smells."

"The way he smells?"

"51st Century pheromones. You have _no_ idea."

* * *

Gwen patted her stomach fondly, "Only 2 more months 'til this little bundle of joy joins us."

Daria smiled, "I really love how even amid all of the Torchwood stuff, one of us manages to start a family. Andy and I have a long way to go before we even consider that stuff."

Gwen tilted her head, "I'm sure you two will get there. I've never seen Andy so happy – Rhys says he's like a changed person."

Daria blushed. In her mind, she could see Andy marrying her, having a family with her, but had no idea where he stood with her. The long hours they both worked weren't ideal, but that was the problem with the job; she was needed.

"I hope so," she said, blithely, tucking her hair behind her ears and looking around at the Plass. The two women had stepped out to wait for their respective partners, and Daria liked Gwen's company, so she asked, "Gwen. I was wondering – well, Andy and I were wondering – if you and Rhys would like to come to dinner with us sometime. You know, a double date. I like spending time with you."

Somehow Daria thought Gwen caught her meaning; that they should have spent more time with Charlton, while he was around and himself, and that they'd missed their chance. Working for Torchwood, Daria's social life had deteriorated to the point where she only really knew people with some connection to work. She wanted to know them as well as possible - who knew when they would be gone?

"I'd love that, Daria. Rhys and Andy are getting along well since…" _Since he got with you_, Gwen finished in her own mind, and smiled. Her eyes widened, "Ah, here's Rhys. Must be off, love, we're going to the obstetrician."

Daria stood and hugged her, with a smile, "Be sure to update me, I'll add it to your file."

She watched Gwen depart with Rhys, who gave her a mute wave and a grin, and settled back into her bench, staring around the Plass. Irritated, she rubbed her eye – something was bugging her, and she wondered if she had something in it.

She didn't. Something – or some_one_ – was standing at the corner of her vision. Daria turned.

There was a woman standing a few metres away, watching her. She seemed normal at first, but then Daria began to notice a slight shimmer at the woman's outline, the way her image seemed faint, faltering. She was dressed a long red dress, nipped in at the waist, with matching shoes, and had the whitest hair she'd ever seen on someone so young.

The woman stared at her for what seemed like hours with piercing dark eyes, then raised her finger to her lips in a shushing gesture. Daria hardly dared blink for fear she'd vanish.

Slowly, the woman made her way to the bench, and took out an envelope from her pocket, placing it down on the bench. She smiled coldly, then turned and began to walk away. Daria glanced down at the envelope, the ordinary, rectangle of white, then looked back up again.

The woman was gone. Blinking rapidly to restore moisture to her eyes, Daria felt a hand on her shoulder and turned quickly.

"Daria?" It was Andy. Wonderful, blonde, Welsh Andy. She smiled beatifically to distract him, sliding the envelope into the pocket of her jeans. He smiled back, kissing her deeply, before saying, "God, I miss you _all the time_. Fancy a Chinese?"

"Yeah," she replied, tracing his cheek with one hand and cupping his chin in her fingers, "Let's go."

The pair walked off hand in hand, and deep in the Hub, Jack and Ianto stood, watching the CCTV.  
"This doesn't look good," Ianto commented, straightening his tie. Jack shook his head, "No, no it doesn't. Get me that envelope, at any costs."

Ianto nodded, and smiled wickedly, "Consider it done…_sir_."

* * *

_A/N: Well, here we are at the end of arc 2. It's been a bumpy ride, I know, and I want to thank everyone who has reviewed this arc and stuck with it. As you can see, I can continue, but I shall only do so if you guys would like me to. So, to the 25 people who have favourited this and the 51 who have it on alert - what do you think? One more arc? I don't have enough left for a fourth, but a third is do-able. I don't want to be the writer who flogs a dead horse. I have a storyline for Daria planned (obviously) as I'd like to show you more of her, and there is still the Cooper-Williams baby and the Cath-Learner baby storylines to wrap up if need be. Let me know. Otherwise, thank you for reading - you guys rock._


	31. Story Arc III: Truth

_A/N: Well then, here it is: the beginning of the end. I've decided this third arc will be my last for this story, as I think 45 chapters is really enough. Thanks for the amazing response to the last few chapters of arc 2, it really meant a lot and totally made a difference to my decision to continue. I should warn for American readers there are some minor spoilers for Doctor Who, but I think that actually, you already know about this, so nevermind. Anyways, song for this chapter is 'Truth' by Chiddy Bang, ft. Passion Pit. It's a change from the usual music I play when I'm writing this, but I guess what I'm trying to say is that this arc is gonna be happier. I mean, it's still gonna have some difficult bits, but overall it's gonna be happier. Better things are coming, I swear there's truth in that. Enjoy!  
_

* * *

He was in Ianto's apartment for the first time in months. He was sleeping in Ianto's bed for the first time in months.

He'd been there before, obviously; to check on Ianto after Lisa, a few times after Ianto's resurrection, and now…_now_. Somehow this time was different – the lack of sex was welcome, because Jack knew about Charlton, knew Ianto would feel awkward about it.

It was fair. Jack could hardly close his eyes without seeing Ianto and Charlton together. He was sad Charlton was gone, but sadder at the effect he'd had on Ianto in the end. Not just on Ianto – on their whole relationship.

He idly ran a finger along the soft buzz-cut of hair at the back of Ianto's neck. The Welshman huffed slightly in his sleep, but kept snoozing.

The apartment felt different – more lived-in somehow, now that Ianto was actually living there, as opposed to at his desk or in someone else's apartment.

Funny how a home could say so much about a person. Jack's life had been so long that his rooms told very little – after living for such a while, one tended to stop advertising stuff, tended to stop wearing one's heart on their sleeve. They'd seized Charlton's apartment upon his departure, and Jack had spent the day there, scrutinizing the young man's living space with a critical eye.

It was a nice place, for a nice guy. Well-meaning, intelligent. The number of books littering the place were a testament to that.

The bedsheets were still rumpled. Jack had swallowed, and inhaled to keep his composure, only to catch the unmistakable smell of the Doctor. _So. This thing with the Basement ran much deeper than I thought._

He found the liquor cabinet, of course, and frowned. Then he shut the door quietly, with a near-silent click, and decided not to tell anyone about it. Seemed as though Charlton had been sad for a long time – and it was an expensive habit, being sad in _that_ way.

Ianto was a deep sleeper, when he got to sleep, and Jack didn't like to sleep generally - from time to time was enough, to avoid his dreams. He propped himself up on his – they_ felt _like his, now – pillows, and picked up a book from the side table, beginning to read while carding one hand through the Welshman's hair.

It was warm, and dark, and very comfortable; to Jack, it almost felt like home.

* * *

Now, Andy was not good at relationships. His one with Daria was surprisingly easy, even to him, as there seemed to be a mutual understanding beneath their life together, a nearly tangible sense of kindred spirits.

It was because of this he knew she was unsettled. Sure, on the outside she seemed fine, nestled into his side, his arm draped around her, playing with his hand, but he knew, from the way she wasn't really watching the film, from the way her gaze kept drifting up to him, that something had happened. It'd been like this for a month and a half.

"Daria," he said, and she looked up. He wanted desperately to kiss her, just from the way her lower lip stuck out ever so slightly in thought. He shook himself, "There's something up, isn't there?"

She sighed, pushing herself up but keeping contact with his body, her leg flush against his. Struggling, she pulled the envelope out of her tight jeans, and held it up for his inspection, "A woman gave me this about a month ago. She was dressed all in red, with white hair, and then she vanished. I sound crazy, I know…but I _swear_."

Andy took the envelope out of her trembling hands, and turned it over in one of his, stroking Daria's hair soothingly, "This is what's been setting you on edge all this time? Well, it's addressed to you - Ms. Daria Morris - there's only one of you in Cardiff, as far as I know. Why don't we open it, see what we've got to worry about before we start fretting, hm?"

Daria smiled, and faltered, "I just feel so unsettled by it. There was something so _strange_ about the woman, like she wasn't really there. She…flickered? I suppose that's the right word."

Andy slid his thumb under the sealed flap of the envelope and slid it along, surprised at how easily and cleanly it came away. He peered inside, "Looks like just a card; a heavy, good quality card. Here." He pulled it out and handed it to Daria, who frowned.

"_'Welcome'_?" Daria read the front of the card, then opened it, "_'It has begun. You will be ours.'_ God, what could that mean?"

"I dunno." Andy's stomach clenched at the words, the ownership in them, "Let's not worry about it just yet. To be safe, don't tell anyone at work. They'll only get involved, like always, with things that don't concern them. Bloody Torchwood."

She nestled back into his side, leaving the card on the coffee table. His heart pounded just a bit louder at her nearness, the fact this woman trusted – _loved?_ – him bringing colour to his face.

She mumbled, "Yeah. Bloody Torchwood," and Andy felt as though he would burst with this newfound happiness.

* * *

She was huge.

There was no other way of describing it. She was bloody massive. Turning with wide eyes to Rhys, she said, "I'm a planet."

"No…" Rhys started, then at the stern look he received, changed tact, "Well, yes, but you are almost nine months_ pregnant_. It's only for a little while longer."

She rubbed her stomach soothingly, feeling a soft kick of response from their child, "Only a little while longer, cariad, and you'll be with us."

Rhys came up behind his wife and wrapped his arms around her, placing his hands over hers on her stomach and resting his chin on her shoulder. He pressed a kiss to her jaw, "I'm so proud of you. Of us."

She rolled her head against his shoulder, "I know. We've finally got our little family. Torchwood's settled on my maternity leave, by the way."

"Hm?" He looked up, and met her smile, "Is it good?"

"I am allowed to work from home for them, for regular pay. Means I'll still be bringing in money but I'll be able to take care of our little bundle of joy."

"Wow, that's very generous. How long for?"

"As long as we need, apparently. We'll need to find a permanent way of balancing work and baby but in the interim…we're sorted."

Rhys smiled, turning Gwen around, and kissed her softly. She returned the kiss, stroking the back of his neck. Pulling away, Rhys mumbled, "Love you."

"Love you too, Rhys. Always have, always will."

* * *

The woman in red waited under the lamppost, her image flitting in and out of reality. She didn't have long, but she needed to speak to…_him_.

He walked towards her, and she smiled; he looked different to how she'd last seen him. Then again, that had been quite a while ago, when she'd picked up Blue. He'd been bald then, with a broad Northern accent and a leather jacket. She noted that his nose and ears were still as prominent, but in a different way.

"Red," he said, with a broad smile, holding out his arms. She slid into his embrace easily, returning the hug with a diminutive smile, "Doctor. It's been a while. I like the new body."

He laughed, a warm, pleasant laugh, and said, "I'm rather enjoying it too. Now, what's this about? You need to make it quick. I'm having some…problems. Well, not _problems_, but well _yes_, problems. Cracks. In space. _Space-cracks_."

Red placed a hand over the Doctor's mouth, "Shh. Calm down. All I wanted to say is that we need another person. Green passed away, we need someone to replace him."

"And you've chosen…? _Ah_. Don't tell me. I think I _know_," the Doctor studied Red's face intently, cupping her cheeks in his hands, fingers on her temples, gaze lingering a fraction on hers, "Ah. You know it's going to be difficult. This one's more settled than Green ever was."

"I'm sure I can work something out. I am ever faithful to you, after all. This is the best for the group."

The Doctor stepped back cupping his hands behind his head and studying Red intently. It always struck him how everyone like her understood him so much better, met his gaze unfalteringly, no fear, no irritation. Made him wonder.

"You humans," he said, "You humans always surprise me. Thanks for letting me know, Red. I hope it goes well for you."

"Until next time, Doctor."

He sighed, lowering his arms and turning to walk back to the TARDIS, a few metres away, "Until next time."

* * *

Well, this was a problem.

"You know I can't work for you anymore, Learner. In between my mortality and Iris," she gestured to their baby in her arms, "I'm no use to you. You've got Charlton now, at least, but I think…"

The look in her eyes was unbearable as they filled up with tears. He heard her mind say, _I think I need to move out. Start a **normal** life._

_Do you still love me?_ he thought.

_With all my heart. I just can't live in this place and expect her to grow up **healthy**._

"Okay," Learner said, running a hand down the side of his face. He was in his Umbreyta form, letting his daughter see his real body and his human one so she knew he was one and the same. She blinked at him from her place in her mother's arms.

Cath looked normal, now. Her bright red hair had loosened in texture, falling in soft waves around her shoulders. She didn't look fragile; she looked strong, agile. He realized belatedly that this was generally what healthy human women looked like, outside of his Basement world.

"Okay, I'll find you an apartment. I'll contact Torchwood to let them know – hell, maybe you can spend some time with that lot. They're fairly normal, and their female – sorry, I mean _Gwen Cooper_ – is in her final weeks with child. Cath, can I still come and visit you?"

Cath stood, placing Iris in her cot, and hugged Learner, suppressing a shiver at his cold skin, "Whenever you want. My heart beats for _you_, Learner, never forget that."

She turned, and added, "I'd better start packing, then."

Learner sighed, wondering why it felt like all he was living for was slipping out of his reach.

* * *

"Mmm? Right. Right. Okay then. I'll let them all know. Okay, goodbye." Ianto put the phone down, dusting off his hands, and turned to Jack. They were in his office, and as per usual, Ianto had answered the phone as soon as he'd seen 'Basement' on the caller ID.

"That was Learner."

"Hm?"

"Cath is moving out of the Basement with Iris. She's…she's going to visit us. She can't work for the Basement anymore because…"

"Because what?"

"When she gave birth, Jack, I didn't tell you something. She…she became _human_ again."

Ianto noticed the spark of interest in Jack's startling blue eyes, "As in, Official-human or Gwen-human?"

"Gwen-human. Learner said the Umbreyta bled the injection right out of her. Along with her tattoos."

Jack swallowed, and Ianto studied his neck intently, watching the blood thrum under the surface peacefully, barely daring to look up to Jack's face, lest he see the lurch of hope in his eyes. "Oh. Well, she's welcome, obviously, her experience at the Basement puts her in good stead for being allowed in."

"Also, Jack," Ianto said, glancing in the mirror and adjusting his tie by a fraction, "I think we ought to help her out. She's going to be looking for a normal job now and we need to look out for her. Especially with the baby."

"Oh. Well, sure. I'm great with kids," Jack grinned, getting up and hugging Ianto around the waist, "I love you, by the way. Dunno if you'd heard."

Ianto turned with a beatific smile, and kissed him, before mumbling against his lips, "We're getting there, Jack. We're getting there."

* * *

"Blue?"

Out of the darkness, a tall, broad man, with dark, short hair and darker eyes emerged. Red smiled. Blue – he was named so for his entirely blue ensemble, inherited from the Blue before him – nodded in recognition.

"Blue, I met with the Doctor. All stations are go."

Blue nodded again, and retreated back into the darkness.

* * *

_A/N: Hee hee. Space-cracks._


	32. We Did It When We Were Young

_A/N: Gosh, this one was difficult to churn out. I'm out of the habit, damn my GCSEs. D: Thankfully, I have just one exam left, and now I shall be getting back into the habit of doing this properly. I've had a lot on my plate, fingers crossed that putting this fic to the side to study was worth it, eh? Apologies if this is a bit patchy. Getting used to writing Daria as a major character, you see, her inner dialogue is turning out less certain than Charlton's was. Also, if there are any problems understanding my logic in the Jack-Ianto-Doctor scene, just ask any questions and I'll answer them individually and put them in the A/N next chapter. Song for this one is 'We Did It When We Were Young' by the Gaslight Anthem, an amazing band who I will be seeing live next Tuesday night. :) Enjoy!  
_

* * *

She padded out of the bedroom, bare feet near-silent on the thick carpet of her – _their_ – room.

Andy's moving in, it turned out, had been the best decision she'd ever made. She'd worried slightly that maybe he would intrude on the space, the one place where she could be herself, that his things would clutter hers and take over. It wasn't like that – he supplemented, complimented the apartment. Completed it.

Putting the kettle on to boil, wincing at the chill of the kitchen tiles, she leaned against the countertop, tracing her nail idly against the marble surface. Sighing, she walked slowly to the sofa, sitting down and putting her feet up on the coffee table.

Daria felt content, but worried that maybe the feeling would be going soon. The card from the woman in red stared at her from the table, a silent reminder of the visitation from what seemed like another world. Frustrated, she got up, and went to make the tea.

The air outside was hot and stuffy, the windows of the apartment open to let in as much of a breeze as possibly, and yet she still insisted on tea with breakfast. It seemed the right way to start every day, somehow; peaceful, understated. A grateful ritual to some morning god.

As she measured out the loose-leaf tea into her Wedgwood teapot, she thought about Torchwood and how it had changed her life for the better. It was Torchwood that had brought her Andy, brought her a much needed change of career. Possibly it had brought her the red stranger; Torchwood was one of those jobs where it took over your entire life, put you in contact with people you never would have previously encountered. Daria pushed the red woman once more to the back of her mind, ignoring the silent black glare of her presence.

It was just lucky Andy already knew about it – Daria doubted she could have stayed with him, knowing the secrets she did about the world.

She set up a simple breakfast at the kitchen table – tea set prepped and ready to go – and set about making pancakes, while Andy stumbled into the room and sat at the table in one of their high-backed oak chairs. He smiled at her, and for a second she paused to admire him – admire the pale skin of his chest and arms, the straight, strong line of his collarbones and shoulders, and his unruly blonde hair. Lifting her gaze to his honest brown eyes, she was struck by something.

"We've been together for eight months, Andy. Eight months today."

He grinned, "Surprised?"

She moved to his side, shrugging her cardigan further up her shoulders and kissing one sticking-out ear fondly, "Not really. Sounds strange, but I can't remember life without you."

He kissed her then; warmth spread through her body and she smiled into his mouth, then pulled away. "Still have to go to work, though."

Daria moved back to the kitchen, and drizzled golden syrup and butter over the still-steaming stacks of pancakes, and carried them through to Andy, a good start to what felt like a good day.

* * *

"We need to figure out a way of getting that card off of Daria," Jack mused, trailing a finger down Ianto's arm absentmindedly.

"Mmm," Ianto said, glancing up through his lashes at Jack, "I think we have to get out of bed for that. Just a thought." He received a pinch in return, "Ow."

It was then that the Hub alarm went off, loud and stark in the quiet of Jack's room. Jack frowned, sitting bolt upright and checking his Vortex Manipulator, "That's weird, it didn't even pick it up here…"

"Oh no no no, don't get up for little ol' me," a broad voice called from the upper levels of the Hub. Jack and Ianto simultaneously pulled on clothes with fervor and climbed the ladder to Jack's office, buttoning shirts one-handed.

"Doctor," Jack said, and Ianto frowned slightly at the softness of his voice, the open delight he heard in it. It was only the Doctor – _oh._

This was a face he did not recognize, being neither the Doctor he'd encountered at Canary Wharf, nor the younger model of Doctor he'd been seeing recently. This one had close-cropped hair, large ears and a large nose, and spoke with a Northern dialect. He admired the cut and sheen of the Doctor's leather jacket for a moment, being a fan of good tailoring, then realized with a strange abruptness that this was the Doctor that Jack had first known.

This was, in every way, Jack's Doctor. Before Jack became 'wrong' to him, before…was it before Rose? Or after?

"Jack," the Doctor said, pulling him into a hug, "I knew you'd do me proud. Torchwood Three, eh? You the leader?" For a moment the Doctor frowned, tentatively sniffing at Jack, and said, "Ah…that's what I was talking about."

He pulled back, but kept his hands on Jack's neck in a gesture that was simultaneously tender and strict, "I've just made a quick stop. Rose is upstairs, in the TARDIS, but…I told myself not to let you see her. I can't."

"Doctor," Jack said again, and this time he sounded sad, pleading. Ianto watched quietly from the background, a silent witness to this meeting of old friends, as Jack carried on, "Doctor, let me see her. Please." _After Rose, then,_ Ianto thought, and decided to keep Canary Wharf locked behind a deadbolted door, as always.

The Doctor moved his hands to Jack's cheeks, and patted him quietly, softly, "You know how it works, Jack. You're up there, too. You meet yourself, you make things here so much more risky. It's bad enough I came back to visit myself."

"Which one of you did you meet? Ten, Eleven….?"

"Neither. Which is why I'm so worried about this. I met my twelfth incarnation, Jack. He told me to come back to this point to let you know about something that you," Here he paused, and looked directly at Ianto. The Welshman felt inclined to shrink away; there was something so intense, so alien about this Doctor's gaze that Ianto felt as though the Timelord knew far too much. Keeping his gaze steady on Ianto, he carried on, "and you, may find very interesting."

Jack moved away from the Doctor, sat behind his desk, and Ianto itched to smooth out the tense muscles in the captain's back, but kept his silence, merely nodding to the Doctor and moving to Jack's right side. The Doctor studied them closely, then smiled, "Settled down, have we Jack? What happened to being an interplanetary playboy, eh?" Again that steady gaze on Ianto, "You got him tied down, have you Ianto Jones?"

Ianto glanced at Jack, masking his alarm as best he could, "I can only hope so, Doctor."

A hand on his, warmth squeezing his fingers. Jack smiled, saying, "Definitely."

"Well, good for you. I'm glad someone managed to make you settle," the Doctor smiled, wry this time, then said, "Now, when I tell you both this, I have to instruct you to not tell a soul, apart from, if you want to, this Gwen Cooper I've told myself about. But for her sake, I'd suggest you don't; I told myself to tell you two because you are not in any direct danger from the knowledge. Gwen would be in danger."

Jack nodded, and Ianto tried to follow as best he could, but put up a hand. The Doctor nodded at him, and Ianto supplied, "Doctor, when you're talking about yourself having a conversation with your future incarnation, could you possibly call him Twelve? Just for clarity?"

The Doctor laughed, a full-bodied sound, and grinned, "Of course, mate, sorry about the confusion. Twelve told me that once I tell you this and get Rose and past-Jack away from here, I need to take Retcon. This meeting cannot exist in my mind or the timeline will change, and I don't know what effect that could have. I'll take some along for Rose and past-Jack, put it in their drinks. That explains why you don't remember waiting in the TARDIS for me to come back from this meeting, by the way, Jack."

"I tend not to keep track of those things anymore, Doctor," Jack said, in a way that Ianto suspected was meant to heavily confirm the Doctor's earlier suspicion. The Doctor nodded in a way Ianto recognized as resignation.

"Anyways. Back to what I was on about in the first place. You know about Torchwood Four, right? How the Abode was lost?" With a creak of leather, the Doctor folded his arms and leaned against the glass wall of Jack's office. Ianto replied, "Not how, just that it was."

"Well, what I'm here to tell you is that Four is not lost. That it will be resurfacing soon. And let me tell you, do not get in their way. Two used to be more than just that one man in Glasgow, and it's because of Four that it is now. They are ruthlessly efficient and take commands from no one – except me."

Jack raised an eyebrow, "You? Wasn't Torchwood originally formed to get rid of you? Huh, is Four some kind of UNIT wannabe, now?"

"No, Jack. UNIT _wishes_ it was as powerful as Four," the Doctor said, "And apparently, according to Twelve, in recent days Four has issued itself an objective, and I am told that I need to inform you, 'not to get in their way'." He wrinkled his nose, "To quote myself. Now, anyways, Retcon. For me, Rose and past-Jack, please."

And with a start, the tense atmosphere dispersed, and Ianto immediately unlocked the draw of Retcon, dispensing the amounts needed for each person. Jack chastised him for his dose for the Doctor – "He needs a double dose, believe me…" – and they handed over the white pills, which the Doctor stowed away in his jacket pocket.

Extending a large hand to Ianto, the Doctor smiled, "It's been a pleasure, mate, it really has. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I know you'll both get through this just fine." Ianto took the hand offered and shook, feeling warmth and calluses in the Timelord's palm, "Hopefully."

Jack pulled the Doctor into a long hug at the Hub door, and Ianto watched from the office, pensive as he swore he saw the captain smell the Doctor's jacket for a long moment. It was a gesture of desperation he recognized, and when the Hub door shut behind the Doctor, Ianto turned away from Jack's face, imagining he didn't see the shining of tears in Jack's eyes.

* * *

_A/N: Also, credit must be given to **Sushi Chi, **who was the person I took the name of Torchwood Four's base from, as she uses 'the Abode' in her rather excellent fic 'Straighten Up And Fly Right', which if you haven't read it, I'd recommend giving a read as it's absolutely wonderful. 'The Abode' just sounded so awesome and Torchwood-y I had to use it. :)_


	33. Orphans

_A/N: Good lord it's been a long time. Hello, hello, hello, remember me? And here I was saying updates would be more regular now that GCSEs are out of the way. I apologize, life has a way of getting on top of me from time to time, but here is an admittedly small chapter. I will try and have a longer one ready for you guys soon, as I don't really have a lot to do right now other than tidy and prepare for moving house some time in the future. Song for this chapter is 'Orphans', by the still-awesome Gaslight Anthem. Hope you like it, and stick with it. Enjoy!  
_

* * *

The apartment was small, she realized, but perfect for them.

She held Iris in her arms, rocking her gently, and walked around the rooms of the flat, smiling at the light flooding in from the windows. They were high up, the top of the five-story block of flats, and Cath quietly admired the view of trees and far-off buildings.

"What do you think?" Learner asked, twisting his hands together, anxious. He was human today, especially so, and Cath found herself frowning.

"Being human doesn't suit you for so long, Learner. Change back."

He changed, a soundless shimmer in the air, and asked again, "What do you think?"

A smile, and she pressed a kiss to his cold cheek, "I love it. Thank you."

Her partner sighed with relief, "The Torchwood lot will be over later today, to help us move your stuff in. Ianto lives nearby, so if you need anything I'm sure you can give him a call."

She looked up from their daughter and frowned, "Are you bringing Charlton?"

"He's useful. Good at lifting."

"I'm telling you _no_. Ianto can't handle that, not yet. We'll manage without him – tell him to keep an eye on the CCTV. We've been picking up those strange vibrations, you never know if something might show up," Cath kissed Iris' forehead, and she cooed in response, tiny hands reaching out to her mother. Placing a finger in the little one's hand, Cath continued, "Like the other day, that creature we had to capture before Torchwood got there. No way they could have handled that, you were lucky I was watching the feeds."

Learner rubbed at his arm at the memory; some of his spines had been broken off, the skin behind them scorched unpleasantly to resembled cracked lava. He winced, "Good thing we took it alive, too, or we'd have had a full-scale invasion on our hands. That species is very willing to fight first, ask questions later."

"Exactly. So. No Charlton, leave him with the feeds," Cath kissed him then, long and sweet, and traced his cheek with one hand, rocking Iris with the other, "then once this is sorted, we can be a proper family. At least, some of the time."

* * *

"It's Moving Day fellas," Jack said, arms folded as he surveyed his team. Well, his team plus two boyfriends, Andy and Rhys, who stood with their hands in their pockets, staring dolefully at him.

"Remind me again why Andy and I are involved in this pallava," Rhys said, raising an eyebrow.

"You can't raise your eyebrow, that's Ianto's job!" Jack cried in protest. Ianto held up a hand, "Calm down Jack, I forgive him. You've involved, Rhys, because Gwen can't lift things and since you know about Torchwood when you're not really meant to we reserve the right to request a couple of favours from time to time. Same goes for Andy."

Andy rolled his eyes, "Alright, alright. So where's this Catherine moving in exactly?"

"Just down the way. You'll see the moving truck, don't worry," Ianto smiled, "Follow us."

The troop of helpers made their way down to the small estate of Victorian houses, which had been converted into apartments, each taking up half a floor. Sure enough, there was a large moving truck parked inside, and once Learner had let them in at the gate, they set about moving things.

Cath stood at the step of the building with a smile on her face and Iris in her arms. Immediately Daria and Gwen ran to her side, cooing at the baby and plying giggles out of it, all the while chatting amicably with the woman they now called 'friend'.

Jack sighed, turning to Ianto, "Women and babies. I'll never understand."

Ianto raised an eyebrow, "Yes, because the fact that one gives birth to the other isn't enough of a factor in their fascination with each other."

"Is that sarcasm I detect?"

"Nooo…"

Jack pinched the coffeeboy fondly, and they both started to help with the moving.

* * *

By the end of the day the apartment was fully furnished, and cozy; homely now that its sparseness was occupied by objects and people. The Torchwood group collapsed into new sofas and armchairs, smiling in their tiredness as they looked at Learner, Cath and Iris – the new family.

"I can't thank you all enough," Cath said, while Iris played with one of her mother's fingers, "This means so much, especially recently after all that's happened."

"It was no problem," Gwen said, squeezing the other woman fondly, "We're friends, it's what friends do for each other."

Cath seemed slightly overcome with emotion at this, "You can't imagine how it feels to hear that." Wordlessly she handed Iris to her father, and dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief previously tugged into a jean pocket. Ianto felt his heartstrings being tugged by the familiarity of how Cath was feeling – alone, abandoned, but now happy, with friends.

Almost how he had felt, when he lost Lisa but truly gained the rest of the team as friends. He smiled at the memory – it didn't hurt anymore when he thought of her; he felt only a small twinge of regret, overwhelmed by love of who she had been, when she was whole. Who she would always be in his memory now.

He felt a hand in his hair and glanced over to Jack, who sat on the arm of the armchair Ianto had fallen into. The older man smiled at him with eyes that spoke volumes with their warmth, the blue no longer reminding him of ice, but of the ocean.

Quietly Jack murmured, "Everything was worth it, just for this."

"I'd do it again," Ianto said, and wasn't really sure whether it was Jack or Cath he was talking to. Then again, maybe it didn't matter.

* * *

Back at home that night, Andy turned to Daria in bed and found her frozen in an expression of thought, fingers pressed loosely to her lips in consternation. He frowned; his partner seemed tense, on edge, and he soon noticed why; in her other hand she clasped the note from Red.

Red had soon become their nickname for the woman in red, summing up her presence and person so completely no other pseudonym seemed to fit. Andy admitted to being disturbed by the idea of the woman – despite not ever having seen her, he soon had dark eyes and flashes of red silk in his nightmares, often to do with losing Daria.

Hopefully they wouldn't amount to anything. He took the note out of Daria's hands, and studied it again, rereading the long-memorized words written there. It seemed to dominate the apartment, always seemed to find itself right where it wasn't wanted.

A reminder. A time-bomb, ticking away. "Hey," Andy said, putting his warm hand on the smooth planes of Daria's back, and rubbing soothingly, "Hey, what's wrong?"

Her voice seemed to quaver as she said, "I want to tell them. Torchwood, I mean. They should know. For all I know this is another branch of the Basement trying to kidnap me and make me like Charlton."

"Like Charlton?" Andy found himself confused, "Daria, have you seen him since…you know?"

She turned to him, "Yes. I have. He doesn't remember anything. He's a robot. I don't want to be like that, Andy, not at all. He doesn't even remember Ianto."

He heard the words she left unspoken – I wouldn't remember you – and found his insides suddenly turned cold at the idea. That doesn't bode well, he mused, pulling Daria to him and holding her tight.

"Give it a while longer. I'm still waiting for my friend to get the footage of the Plass for me, see if we can figure out where she came from. See if anyone saw her," Andy said, and Daria smiled, enjoying listening to his voice vibrate through his body.

He pulled back, and cupped her face in his hands. His fingers explored the planes of her face, lingering on the scars that ran across her lips, and Daria let her eyes flutter closed as her lips parted with a sigh.

Andy kissed her then, and she felt all of her worries ease away as the feel of his lips moving softly against hers made her lose her general train of thought. She almost jolted back in shock when she swore she heard Andy murmur, "I love you," and a strange fluttering started in her heart.

"…what?" she asked, dumbstruck, but kept her hands around his neck, enjoying the feel of the soft buzz cut there.

"I said…I love you? Is that okay?" Andy raised an eyebrow, "Oh _god_, if it's not, if it's too soon –"

Daria silenced him with another kiss, more passionate and longer than the one before, before she pulled back and whispered in his ear, "I've waited so long for you to say that. The first day I saw you fighting for those kids, I wanted you to say it. I love you, too."

Andy couldn't do anything but smile and hold her, as gently and warmly as he kept the moment in his heart.

* * *

Late that night, as the couple slept, the door opened with a tiny creak, and a visitor stepped in.

Upon hearing the minute creak, the visitor took out a can of WD40, and greased the hinge. He smiled through his balaclava at the silence of the hinge afterwards.

The visitor crossed the apartment in socks, his shoeless feet muffled on the hardwood floors, and eventually he reached Andy's bedside table, took the note in its envelope, and took several digital photographs of it and its contents in the adjoining bathroom. He replaced it on the table with a level of precision not unlike a surgeon, and departed the apartment.

In the hall, he replaced his shoes, and took off the balaclava. He switched on his comm.

In a whisper Ianto Jones said, "Got it, sir. Keep a coffee pot warm, I think you need to see this."


End file.
